


Before The Eclipse - Part One

by MadnessofVoid



Series: Darkened Sun series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Growing Up Together, Other, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Bingo 2018, Supernaturals are known, The Hale Fire, Violence, Warning: Kate Argent, at the end and she's more in it in part 2, brief stalking, but they're canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-01 03:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14511837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadnessofVoid/pseuds/MadnessofVoid
Summary: Before him was a boy as pale as death itself. Moles dotted his flesh, adding a splash of color. His stare was intense, shifting from whiskey to pure gold the very second Derek noticed him. That stare darted up and down Derek’s frame, an unimpressed hum leaving his throat. Like Derek was nothing the boy was expecting.He was…not dressed at all appropriate for this type of meeting. In this type of meeting, one was expected to be dressed their best and look somewhat proper. Dressed to impress.Guess this boy didn't get the memo.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sterek Bingo is here yet again! *tosses confetti*
> 
> To start off with, I'm doing a partial prologue of my Wild Card fic from last year - the second half will either be the Wild Card fic for next year, or if there is any themes that fit Sterek Week this year it will be there. But for now, this is Part One of Two of Even The Sun Can Grow Dark! You don't have to read it first to read this, but if you would like to it will be in the Sterek Bingo 2017 folder and Darkened Sun series folder in my works. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! The first few chapters are going to be gentle, then the last few will be a bit more on the angst side. So...look forward to that. ^^; 
> 
> Will post a chapter a day, so you won't have to wait too long for an update!

Derek remembered the argument clear as day.

  
  
Always did when it came to his mom and Uncle Peter.

  
  
That was…a lot of arguments to remember. Too much, if he was honest. Almost over every little thing. Like how his mom was teaching her kids control. Or how she was grooming each of them in the ways of an Alpha instead of just the eldest. Or how she encouraged them to be kind instead of cold.

  
  
It was an extensive list.

  
  
This time, it was over the fact that his mom was going to choose an Emissary with the Council for one of her children. The Emissary would serve the Pack as a whole, but there would be one they would serve the most. It was typical tradition. Didn’t happen with every generation of Alphas in a Pack, but it was still a common, typical tradition in the world of Werewolves and those trained in the ways of Emissary Magic.

  
  
Peter was _infuriated_. Eyes flashing at his Alpha, fangs popped out – the whole deal.

  
  
“We don’t need an Emissary! We haven’t had one for nearly _six_ generations! We’re the Hales! We are powerful _without_ one!”

  
  
“We need an Emissary now, Peter. Call it a hunch.”

  
  
“They will be an outsider! Outsiders of the Pack can’t be trusted! You remember the last outsider we let in? She tried to kill us!”

  
  
“No. She tried to kill _**you**_. In her defense, you deserved it.”

  
  
“Outsiders still can’t be trusted!”

  
  
“I have made up my mind, little brother. I have also already met with the Emissary Counsel. We have both already decided on an Emissary. And whom they are assigned to. You may not like it, but it has already happened.”

  
  
“And when they kill all of us…it will be on your head.”

  
  
Laura had given Derek a concerned stare the entire time they eavesdropped, not sure how to explain how she agreed with their mother. Not when she knew that Derek looked up to their Uncle Peter. Had ever since their father was taken from them by radical Hunters.

  
  
He knew, though. Laura was the eldest. She had the more likely chance of becoming the Alpha. Being on their mother’s side came naturally. He didn’t judge that, but…Uncle Peter was right. What if this outsider butchered them all? Or only a few of them and left the rest to feel the Threads between them fade away?

  
  
He had nightmares about it for the next four days.

  
  
Some of them woke up his older brother Alek. Earned him a few glares. A few scoffing teases. Then some apologies when Derek explained what they were about. Followed by either Derek going on the top bunk with Alek, or Alek coming to the bottom bunk for comfort cuddles the rest of the night.

  
  
The day Emissary-Pack Initiation seemed to arrive all too fast.

  
  
The argument rolled around in Derek’s mind the entire time he was getting ready for this. He was an absolute nervous wreck. Alek, and sometimes little Cora, had to keep scenting and hugging him in order to calm him. It would last for a few minutes before he broke down again.

  
  
Then his mother found out.

  
  
Cora told her. Because Cora was a bad secret keeper.

  
  
His mother took him aside, smiling warmly. She gave him a big, tight hug, and nuzzled her face into his neck.

  
  
“It will be okay, Derek. I promise. No matter what Peter says…this Emissary won’t kill us.” she assured him in her calm, wise voice.

  
  
Derek sniffed, burrowing his nose against her shoulder. “How do you know?”

  
  
He could feel his mother smile more. Unfortunately, he could also feel her radiate a little sadness.

  
  
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, but you can’t tell anyone. Can you do that?”

  
  
He nodded with enthusiasm. He was a great secret keeper! Unlike Cora. His mother chuckled, combing her claws through his hair gently. That was his favorite thing. Always eased him. Always forced down anything bothering him.

  
  
He had the best mom in the whole world.

  
  
“Derek…the Emissary the Counsel and I chose is a twelve year old boy…just like you.”

  
  
He couldn’t help but to pull away to gape at her. The Emissary she picked was…was someone his own age? Why would she do that? Why would the Emissary Council have a boy his age in their massive campus? That made no sense! Emissaries were usually old men or women! Not…kids.

  
  
Sensing his shock and confusion, his mother chuckled again and shook her head. “It’s all right, Derek. They didn’t kidnap him. He’s an orphan. Lost his family in a fire set by bad Hunters. The Emissary Council took him in because they were friends with his parents. They decided to train him to be an Emissary at his demanding request. He has been there for five years, surpassing many adults.”

  
  
She leaned in closer to Derek, poking their noses together, and grinned deviously. “And I’ve had my eye on him for all that time.”

  
  
Derek’s eyes rounded, breathing out a stunned, “You have?”

  
  
“Oh yes. He has a lot of promise. He is also a Magic Holder, so his Magic is all around stronger than a normal Emissary. I’ve been told that he is also incredibly loyal, protective, and will do anything to make sure those he cares about is safe. He is like us, in a way. That’s why we thought he would be a perfect fit. And I invited him to live with us, because I would want my own children to have a home where they were given all the love in the world if I was gone. And this boy needs our love. He craves it desperately. Becomes touch starved just like us. He even scented me upon greeting. Now does this sound like anyone that would harm us?”

  
  
If he was honest, Derek would say no. Because none of that sounded like someone that would do anything ill towards them. But this stranger will need to still earn his trust. Everyone’s trust. So he shrugged – trying to give a more non-committal answer to avoid breaking away from Uncle Peter’s words. Outsiders weren’t to be trusted. But if they could earn it…

  
  
His mother hummed, patting his back. “I think you’ll get along with this boy. No…I _know_ you will. I promise you that.”

  
  
Again, Derek shrugged. He was going to stick to his guns and be stubborn. This Emissary, this boy, would have to earn his trust. It was only the smart thing to do!

  
  
Right?

  
  
Not long after that, the entire Pack perked their heads and migrated to the entry way. They could smell the Head Emissary and the boy. Could hear them approaching, too. Derek tensed, holding his breath with each step closer to their door. All three of his siblings huddled around him, nuzzling and touching any part of skin they could. Judging by their scents…they were nervous, too. But for other reasons.

  
  
It felt as if an eternity passed before there was a knock on the door. A sound that echoed through bones.

  
  
“It’s unlocked.” his mother called out calmly.

  
  
There was a low growl to her left – one that Derek and his siblings knew all too well. He didn’t dare glance over to see what made Uncle Peter stop. Seeing his mom angry was as terrifying as one would expect of an Alpha. Except hers was worse than any Alpha baring their fangs and flashing their strength. Far worse.

  
  
As if waiting for the drama to end, the door finally opened.

 

On the other side was a familiar face. It wasn’t that any of the Hales, with the exception of the Alpha, enjoyed Head Emissary Deaton’s presence. He was far too cryptic and definitely skeevy beyond definition at times. There was something about him that made Derek’s skin crawl. And annoy the hell out of him. Especially when he was wearing the robes of the Old World. Something about pictures depicting all the things that Druids, the original Emissaries, used to do, including the sacrifices, didn’t sit well with the young wolf.

  
  
Thankfully, not only was Deaton _not_ wearing the robes of the Old World today, but he opted to wear his veterinarian coat with slacks and a button up. Made him seem more approachable. And his little smile helped. Derek never knew the man could smile!

  
  
The Head Emissary readily accepted the hug offered to him from the Alpha, his smile seeming to grow. All eyes were focused on them – two people in high power deserved all the attention one could give. Even if all they were doing was hugging and exchanging hushed whispers. It was customary among the supernatural community. Something humans were still getting used to.

  
  
But Derek’s attention was pulled away. He felt someone standing right in front of him. Someone breathing on him as shallowly as possible. He gulped, tearing his gaze away and hoped no one noticed.

  
  
Before him was a boy as pale as death itself. Moles dotted his flesh, adding a splash of color. His stare was intense, shifting from whiskey to pure gold the very second Derek noticed him. That stare darted up and down Derek’s frame, an unimpressed hum leaving his throat. Like Derek was nothing the boy was expecting.

  
  
He was…not dressed at all appropriate for this type of meeting. In this type of meeting, one was expected to be dressed their best and look somewhat proper. Dressed to impress.

  
  
Guess this boy didn't get the memo.

  
  
His hair was sticking up everywhere from out of his orange beanie – utterly wild and unkempt. He wore a blue and black plaid shirt, which was far too big for his scrawny frame. A distressed looking Deadpool tee was right under the plaid, almost swallowed up by the plaid. His khakis, which was the only ‘dress appropriate’ piece of clothing on his entire body, were snugged tightly around his legs but were baggy around his hip area. And his shoes…they had definitely seen better days.

  
  
Immediately, Derek did not like this kid.

  
  
No sir.

  
  
“May I introduce you to your new Emissary?” interrupted Deaton, causing both Derek and the boy to jolt to attention. “Or rather, _he_ will introduce himself.”

  
  
The boy heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes. He scanned over all of the Pack before landing right back at Derek. With a smirk. A frickin’ _smirk_. Yep. Derek hated this kid. _Hated_ him!

  
  
“Yo. Name’s Mieczysław Stilinski -” the boy started, his voice a little more smooth than Derek anticipated.

  
  
“Goddess bless you…” muttered Laura and Alek in united horror.

  
  
“But please, call me Stiles. Save you all from making smoke plume out of your ears.”

  
  
Uncle Peter snorted with amusement, which was a huge surprise. Then again…Uncle Peter did enjoy a good snark and cockiness. And this kid seemed to be full of it. From head to toe.

  
  
“What’s a Stiles?” asked Cora, her nose wrinkling.

  
  
The boy, Stiles, gave Cora this look that spoke volumes. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t annoyed. It was more…humorous. Like she had told the best joke a five year old could.

  
  
“What’s a Stiles?” he asked back, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Well…a Stiles is a Magic Holder who is an early Emissary Graduate, an orphan, and who likes superheros. I’m sure there is more, but eh. That’ll take too long.” He smirked again, crouching down to get to Cora’s level. “And what are you?”

  
  
She blinked, bewildered that a total stranger was talking to her without making her feel entirely small. She suddenly became shy and dipped her chin down. “A Cora.”

  
  
“A Cora? Cool! I bet a Cora is totally awesome, huh?”

  
  
“I guess so.”

  
  
“Nah nah nah. A Cora is _totally_ awesome! I can feel it from your Light.”

  
  
The mood of the room shifted quickly. Light…that was a term anyone only ever heard of. Advanced Magic Holders of Old spoke of Lights – the very essence of people. It could tell a Magic Holder if someone was good, evil, alive, or dead. It was on par with all the senses a Werewolf had. Some would even speculate that it was stronger than Werewolf senses. Especially if one that could sense the Light of a person could also read it via a photo.

  
  
It made Derek dislike their Emissary that much more. Because how powerful was this boy and how did anyone know that he wouldn’t use his power for darkness? There was no way Derek was going to trust Stiles. No chance in hell!

  
  
“Welcome to our home, Stiles.” came his mother’s voice, loving and full of warmth. “I suppose I should introduce your Pack. As you know, I am Talia, your Alpha.”

  
  
Stiles nodded, rising to his feet and lowering his head in a slight bow. “Pleased to meet you again, Miss Talia.”

  
  
She beamed at the greeting, eyes crinkling with joy. “This here is my younger brother Peter.”

  
  
Stiles flinched, eyes flashing violet briefly before resuming their whiskey color. Derek was certain no one else noticed but himself, and he wondered why Stiles had that type of reaction. It was…it was as if Stiles _knew_ Uncle Peter. But how could they? They had only just met! Unless…unless it was something else…

  
  
“This is my eldest daughter Laura. She will more than likely become the next Alpha. So you will need to treat her with the same respect as you would me.”

  
  
“I’ll try.” mumbled Stiles, still fixated eerily on Uncle Peter.

  
  
“And this here is my eldest son, Alek. Followed by Derek, and lastly Cora.”

  
  
His mother went on with introductions for the rest of the rather large Hale Pack…but it appeared like Stiles wasn’t listening. Derek had stopped as well. The mystery of why Stiles was paying sole attention to Peter with such intensity taking up all this focus. And when he realized that Peter was staring right back at Stiles with dark interest…

  
  
He desperately pleaded for his mother to notice.

  
  
“Stiles…you seem intrigued with Peter.” mused Deaton in the middle of Talia introducing someone else. “Care to explain why?”

  
  
“Yes, Stiles.” crooned Uncle Peter. “Explain.”

  
  
A heavy silence followed. It was uncomfortable and nearly earth shattering. Derek felt his fists ball up the same time as Stiles’. His chest rose and fell slowly the same time as Stiles’. His eyes shimmered and sizzled out the same time as Stiles’. Everything Stiles did – Derek was in sync with it. He didn’t even consciously notice this until Laura leaned over and whispered, “Dee-Dee, you okay?”

  
  
“No. I’m fine.” Stiles, and Derek, replied at the same time in different speaking levels.

  
  
“You sure? You seem like you’re sizing up an enemy.” Uncle Peter noted slyly.

  
  
At this point, Derek snapped out of whatever it was that swept him up into the synchronization with Stiles, now right back in the same confused boat as the rest of his Pack. And Stiles’ next set of words rattled his very core. Sent shivers up and down his spine.

  
  
“Maybe I am.”

  
  
Uncle Peter didn’t have a comeback for that. Thankfully. Because blood on the hardwood was not ideal.

  
  
And, as if nothing had happened, the Alpha went right back to introducing the rest of their large Pack. This time, Stiles paid attention to her and nodded at each individual with a smile. However, part of him was still observing Uncle Peter with calculating prowess of a predator.

  
  
At this point, Derek both despised the Emissary…and was intrigued by him.

  
  
Finally, with introductions done, Deaton shook Talia’s hand with a broad smile and took his place besides Stiles. The next step of the Emissary-Pack Initiation was occurring. Stiles tensed around Deaton and his stare fell to the floor. He looked like a scared little kid. Was he scared of Deaton?

  
  
“Hale Pack, I am honored to be in your gracious presence. I am also honored to present to you your new Emissary. Although he is but a boy…he is mighty. Overpowering even our most talented Emissaries, who are all adults. Alpha Hale, the whole of the Emissary Council, and myself have decided that Emissary Stilinski is a perfect match for your pack. With his Emissary Magic, his Spark that I hope none of you have to bear witness to or be on the wrong side of, his strategist skills, his intuition, and his wolf-like personality…you will become an even stronger Pack.”

  
  
Deaton’s dark eyes darted around between the four children of the Alpha, sending cold chills through each of them. Especially Derek.

  
  
“Laura, Alek, Derek, Cora…because you are the children of Alpha Hale, one of you will be assigned to Emissary Stilinski. That means you will be known as a Wolf Emissary. Now, Emissary Stilinski will serve the Pack as a whole, you all know this. But he will be far more protective and loyal to the Wolf Emissary. That being said…it is time to show you who The Council, Alpha Hale, and myself have decided Emissary Stilinski will be assigned to.”

  
  
With a snap of his fingers, this translucent and ethereal red string slinked out of Stiles’ chest. He hissed unpleasantly and reeked of faint discomfort. He also shivered as if he suffered a high fever. The red string slithered about, dancing between the four children of Talia. None of them looked confident in seeing this thing. It was terrifying, if Derek was being truthful. Mostly because of Stiles’ reactions to it.

  
  
Derek clamped his eyes shut, hoping that this would be done an over with. He thought of nothing when a rush of ice cold drowned him. Assumed it was fear. Or anxiety. Kept his eyes clamped down. It wasn’t until he felt fingertips brushing over his hands that he opened his eyes…and the sight in front of him made him nauseous.

  
  
Stiles was inches from his face – eyes burning blue. The string was now a deep blue…and attached to Derek’s chest. He was the Wolf Emissary. Their Emissary was assigned to _him_.

  
  
Derek growled lowly, baring his fangs and forcing his claws out painfully. Stiles didn’t seem afraid of the reaction. But he did seem hurt.

  
  
“Wh-why...I'm your Emissary. Don't you trust me?” he questioned timidly, nothing like the bravado he had earlier.

  
  
With a snarl, Derek gave his answer. A wordless, glowering ‘no’. He could hear his mother scold him, could hear Uncle Peter hum his praise, and the rest of the Pack gasp in shock. Because Derek? Little, quiet, shy, anxiety ridden Derek snarl at someone? Unheard of.

  
  
The hurt bled out of the Emissary. Still, he scoffed and gripped at the young wolf’s shoulder. A sharp sting of what could only be described as needles pricking him over and over flooded his entire being. Stiles glared deeply and a flicker of darkness darted across his face.

  
  
“Fine. Listen to him, then. But I warn you…your trust and distrust is placed in the wrong places. And when you learn that bitter lesson…I won’t help you. Because I owe you nothing. You made it abundantly clear that you don’t want it anyways. So fine. Don’t trust me. Hate me. But you’ll regret it. And I won’t be the one to make you feel that regret.”  
  
**~+~**

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles hadn’t left his new room since arriving.

  
  
Well, with the exception of using the bathroom. He kind of didn’t want to shit in his bedroom.

  
  
Everyone in the Hale Pack, _his_ Pack, was wary of him. Well, Miss Talia wasn’t, of course. She was warm, welcoming, helped him create his room, and brought him food. She also always invited him to come join the Hales for dinners and other activities. It was summer break and apparently the Pack was known for doing loads of fun things. He would join…if he was welcomed by everyone else.

 

Especially Derek.

  
  
Wolf Emissaries and Emissaries were supposed to get along _swimmingly_. Fit together like peanut butter and jelly, butter and toast – so on and so forth. It was natural law, pretty much. A Wolf Emissary and an Emissary would instantly click, be the best of friends, and sometimes would even become mated!

  
  
There was no training on what to do if the Wolf Emissary _hated_ the Emissary.

  
  
Nor was there a way for Stiles to not feel utterly devastated, despite his outward behavior.

  
  
“He’ll warm up to you. I promise.” Miss Talia repeated every single time she sat in his room. “They all will.”

  
  
“Sorry, Miss Talia…but I don’t believe you…”

  
  
“They’re fidgety. My younger brother is the master of striking fear in the hearts of the Pack. Fortunately, it fades over time. My brother is also the worse drama prince. The Pack eventually grows sick of him and forgets his whining.”

  
  
“Derek, too?”

  
  
She would frown whenever he asked that, dark eyes off elsewhere as if pondering that over. “Hope so…”

  
  
Two weeks into the solitary confinement he placed upon himself, the first Hale other than the Alpha entered his room. Little Cora crept in while he was asleep, sniffling so loudly that it woke him. And he was a heavy as hell sleeper. When he questioned her about what was wrong, she burst into tears.

  
  
“I had a nightmare!” she wailed. “Uncle-Uncle Peter was out to get me!”

  
  
His heart sunk deep into the depths of…somewhere. He tugged her under his covers, shushing her and whispering to her the stories his mother used to tell him. He would whisper story after story after story until she fell asleep. In the morning, he tried to get out of her what she meant about her uncle being out to get her. She didn’t tell him. Clammed up real tight.

  
  
On the third night of the same nightmare, she explained that because Stiles said he knew her Light, that she wondered if Uncle Peter had a bad Light. Because Stiles stared at him like he was a bad person. Stiles didn’t have the heart to tell her that he had seen deep darkness within Peter’s Light. But he did make her a promise. A promise that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her.

 

“Cross my heart. Needle in my eye. All that jazz.”

 

“No needles in your eyes, please.”

 

“Okay, okay. If you insist. No needles in the eyes.”

 

“But you still promise?”

 

“On my parents' grave, I promise that nothing will ever happen to you.”

  
  
After that, he left his room. Kept a close eye on Cora.

  
  
She’d often drag him around to play with her. No matter what it was. He was pretty sure Laura had plenty of pictures on her phone of him wearing a tutu or caked in poorly done make-up to last a lifetime. All perfect for blackmail material…if he wasn’t enjoying himself. He had a soft spot for kids. Indulging the five year old wasn’t torture whatsoever.

  
  
Watching the way Stiles behaved with Cora seemed to ease the rest of the Pack.

  
  
Besides Laura taking countless pictures of him, she would sometimes invite him to her room to play strip poker with Alek and their cousins. No real nudity, of course. Just to the underwear. If they weren’t playing strip poker, Laura would bring Stiles into her room to duke it out on any video game that was two or more player.

  
  
Alek warmed up to Stiles next. He would take him into the room he shared with Derek to have quite the heated conversations about Star Wars. If Derek was in the room, Alek would take Stiles to the kitchen and argue with him about which movie was the best or anything else Star Wars related. If they weren’t talking Star Wars, they were watching cartoons. Sometimes with Cora and Laura.

  
  
Miss Talia’s little sister, Miss Cosette, taught Stiles how to cook. Sure, he had learned some recipes from his late parents, but he hadn’t cooked in so long that he almost forgot how to. Apparently, Miss Cosette was the main cook in the Pack. Because no one else could do it quite right.

  
  
“Hopefully, by teaching you, I’ll have a helper that will actually do it _correctly_.” she smirked, winking and dotting Stiles’ nose with cookie dough.

  
  
One by one, the Pack treated Stiles like he had always been there. Like he had always belonged. Hell, he was even starting to go along with the others on little trips! The Hales certainly didn't hold back on the fun. Or...at all. Stiles was certain that he had bruises from some of the activities. But at least he was getting along with them!

 

Okay, yes, Derek still glared daggers at him, but the new Wolf Emissary at least now interacted with him. Even if it was just grunts, huffs, and eye rolls. A few rough shoulder pushes here and there.

  
  
And Peter...was an entirely different story.

  
  
The creepy uncle would stare at Stiles, waiting for something to happen. Observing him. Calculating his every move.

  
  
Thing was…Stiles was doing the same right back.

  
  
Whenever the two were in the same room, everyone steered clear. Particularly when they were speaking to each other.

  
  
“How are you on this fine day, Stiles?”

  
  
“Sick, now that you’re breathing my air.”

  
  
“I always breathe your air.”

  
  
“Yeah, but now I can smell you. Any chance you’d wash off all that sleazy grime off your ass soon? It’s _suffocating_.”

  
  
Peter would always chuckle at that, or at any insult Stiles would throw out, more amused than afraid of the young Emissary. Fine. Be amused. Underestimating Stiles would be his downfall.

  
  
Peter would always chuckle at that, or at any insult Stiles would throw out, more amused than afraid of the young Emissary. Fine. Be amused. Underestimating Stiles would be his downfall.

  
  
Summer ticked down somewhat slowly. Day by day felt long. In a good way, but still long. However, it suddenly caught up. Time breezed by. And before Stiles knew it, it was two weeks away from school starting back up. At that time, the Alpha called the Pack into the living room.

  
  
Well, all the ones in elementary through high school, that is.

  
  
She was beaming with pride and holding a tub overflowing with what looked like straps for backpacks, or something of the like. All the wolfy kiddos were brimming over with excitement. And why wouldn’t they be? They knew what was going on. Stiles was confused and a little anxious. Mostly about the whole school thing. He hadn’t been in a public school for a long time. He had no idea how he was going to make it. Especially since he was going to be in middle school with Derek.

  
  
_Just_ Derek.

 

Who seemed to kind of hate him still. Despite the interacting now.

  
  
“As you all know, school is coming up. You will be far away from the Pack. On your own. I will remind you the same thing I remind you of every year: when you are out there, in a world that is still afraid of us, in a world that is still trying to progress forward for us…you are all you have. You are still Pack. Look out for each other. Stand up for each other. You may travel in different groups, but you still need to be aware of each other and should still act as Pack.”

  
  
Miss Talia’s eyes turned towards Derek, her smile faltering. “Especially you, Derek. You will be in the same school with our Emissary. He is Pack, no matter what Peter is feeding you. If I find out, and you know I will, that you bully Stiles, ignore Stiles, basically do every cruel thing your uncle wants you to do to Stiles…I will not only send your uncle away, but I will send _you_ away to another Pack until you learn the importance of yours.”

  
  
The threat stunned Stiles. He had heard of this form of punishment for Pack members that did something against the Pack…but never thought that Miss Talia would be someone who practiced it. Then again, from what it sounded like, Peter was doing his best to turn Derek against Stiles since no one else would any longer. The surprise turned into frustration, and sadness.

  
  
What cruel things had Peter instructed Derek to do?

  
  
He turned to glare at Derek, wanting to show him how betrayed he felt. But when he got a look at Derek’s face…his heart shattered.

 

The Wolf Emissary was seconds shy from bursting into tears. _Terrified_ tears. Stiles had never seen someone appear so afraid of something. It made him nauseous. Nauseous to see Derek so fearful. Nauseous to know that Peter was willing to manipulate his nephew so much that it could potentially force his nephew out for a period of time.

  
  
No.

  
  
Stiles couldn’t let that happen. _Wouldn't_ let that happen.

  
  
Not when everyone, especially Alek and Laura, spoke so highly of Derek’s character.

  
  
With a sigh, Stiles pushed himself off the couch and stood tall.

  
  
All eyes fell on him, startled and a little lost at what he was doing. He flexed his fingertips out over and over before walking over to Derek. They stared into each others souls for a moment, Derek still upset over the possibility of being sent away, before the Emissary sat beside him and took his hand. He shot out waves of calming energy into his Wolf Emissary, exhaling slowly.

  
  
Instantly, he could feel the wolf relax. He rubbed his thumb over the skin, glancing briefly at Derek to see what state he was in. As expected, Derek’s eyes were closed and his head leaned back slightly. As if he had fallen asleep sitting up. Good. Then Stiles could say what he wanted to.

  
  
“Miss Talia…” the Emissary said politely, though he knew his face spoke volumes of fierce anger. “Don’t punish Derek for what Peter is trying to get him to do. It isn’t his fault placing trust in his uncle. Misplaced? Hell yeah. But he shouldn’t be punished for it. If anything, _Peter_ should be the one to be reprimanded if he continues infecting the minds of people that are supposed to trust him.”

  
  
A heavy silence filled the room. The only sound was a shuffle. Not from within the room. No…somewhere outside of it. Stiles snapped his gaze towards it, spotting Peter darting away as quietly and quickly as he could. Guess he didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. But he was. Stiles saw him.

  
  
And so did Miss Talia.

  
  
Her face soured for a brief moment before slapping a smile on and nodding. “Sounds agreeable. I’ll do as you ask, Emissary Stilinski.”

 

“That's all I ask. Thank you, Miss Talia.”

 

Stiles turned to Derek again, who was giving him weird looks now, and winked. It would be a lie if he said he didn't preen when he saw the blush rise in Derek's cheek. Part of him was certain it was the calming spell, but eh. Details.

 

“Now!” boomed Miss Talia with an upbeat tone. “Who wants their new school gear?!”  
  
**~+~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the event!!!
> 
> https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

Two years.

  
  
It took _two years_ for Derek to understand what Stiles had meant by _“I won’t be the one to make you feel that regret.”_

  
  
In those two years Derek was…still wary of the Emissary. Yes, he tolerated the kid with the sarcastic mouth, biting comebacks, wild limbs, lack of proper anything unless he was partaking in Emissary/Pack politics, and the tendency to show off his Magic. But like him? Trust him? Not entirely.

  
  
Which added a whole new heat in the house.

  
  
The arguments between Uncle Peter and his mother? Those were bad. But the ones between Stiles and himself? It was like a bomb went off and everyone was rushing for shelter to avoid shrapnel.

  
  
Derek was stubborn. He knew that. And that stubbornness meant that he didn’t back down when he thought he was right. But Stiles...Stiles...was armed _to the teeth_ with words sharp as knives coated in wolfsbane. Not only that, but Stiles was…usually _right_. Which infuriated Derek to the point that he accidentally broke his doorknob a few times.

  
  
They were forced to share a room after that.

  
  
Did not help _anything_.

  
  
They were complete opposites of each other. Derek was quiet – Stiles was obnoxiously loud. Derek was soft yet rough – Stiles was soft as well but also curt and sarcastic. Derek spoke with his eyebrows when he didn’t want to use words – Stiles rambled while using his limbs. Derek was mostly serious – Stiles was all jokes. Derek was DC – Stiles was mostly Marvel. Derek liked working out since puberty hit – Stiles enjoyed masturbating far too much when he thought he was alone.

  
  
The only thing they shared in common was their obsession with research.

  
  
He could count on both hands and feet how many times he caught Stiles having a midnight Google binge just because he couldn’t sleep. He could also count on both hands and feet how many times he reluctantly joined him when he couldn’t go back to sleep.

  
  
Still, in two years, despite every opportunity Stiles had proved himself to be severely loyal to the Pack, Derek still didn’t trust him. That was what most of their arguments were about. All of them suffocating Derek with the stench of hurt and loneliness from Stiles. But, no matter how much that smell made Derek ill, he was sticking to his guns. He wasn’t going to trust Stiles. Not until he proved his worth in some major way. Which would be impossible. He made that so through sheer stubbornness and loyalty to his uncle.

  
  
Until now…

  
  
Being the only one that shared the same grade, and same middle school with Stiles, Derek was forced to linger behind until the Emissary was ready to leave the school. And vice versa. So when Stiles expressed an interest in trying out for lacrosse, Derek had to stay and watch tryouts from the bleachers.

  
  
At least it gave him time to look over some homework without Cora demanding his attention.

  
  
Except…that wasn’t what happened.

  
  
He found himself watching tryouts of this weird sport. Particularly, watching _Stiles_.

 

He never thought that Stiles’ skinny as hell frame would actually be able to run that fast! All those times Alek expressed how impressed he was that Stiles could keep up with their runs…huh...guess his brother wasn’t a liar after all. Stiles could _move_. Granted, it was bit like a clumsy colt, but the Magic Holder could really move. And his arm wasn’t half bad, either.

  
  
It was as if lacrosse was made for him.

  
  
In the end, he was shocked to hear himself cheer for Stiles when he got a goal. And when Stiles looked back to see who cheered, a goofy and lighter than air grin taking over his lips…

  
  
Derek was annoyed for thinking it was beautiful.

  
  
Once tryouts were done, the coach announced that the rosters would be posted later in the week and dismissed the seemingly hundreds of boys to the showers. That was when Derek finally got to doing his homework.

  
  
For five seconds.

  
  
For some reason, he was jittery. Itchy for…something. He couldn’t focus whatsoever! With a huff, he packed up and headed inside to wait for Stiles.

  
  
Entering the locker room hallway, he heard voices. He ignored them at first. It was a school, after all. Teachers and even some students lingered around. Plus there were those that had finished the lacrosse tryouts. Voices weren’t uncommon nor odd.

  
  
What was odd was…one of those voices didn’t belong here.

  
  
His ears perked, no longer ignoring the conversation. He couldn’t make out what they were saying entirely, what with the racket in the locker room suddenly hitting loud notes. That was good thing. Now he would sneak up that much easier on the two voices. He set his things down carefully on the floor, holding his breath as he approached slowly.

  
  
The closer he became, the more the voices became defined. One of them he was certain belonged to his science teacher Mr. Harris. The one who hated Stiles to the point of turning blue from it. And the other was…

  
  
_Uncle Peter_.

  
  
“And you’re certain this little pouch will do the trick?” his uncle asked skeptically.

  
  
Mr. Harris sighed. Annoyed. Very annoyed. Like he would be if it was Stiles. “I already told you…it is enough to kill your sister and all four of her brats that would get her Alpha heritage.”

  
  
The world trickled to a halt.

  
  
Sounds echoed in molasses movement through the ears.

  
  
Nausea. So much nausea.

  
  
Staggering backwards, Derek separated himself from that space of the hall. Air. He needed _air_. Without a second thought, he bolted right back out those doors and ran.

 

Just…ran.

 

He ran and ran and ran and ran until his lungs began to scream. Even then, he gave them a five second break before he started running again.

  
  
Until he collapsed on the porch of his home.

  
  
He didn’t realize he was there. Not until his mother huddled around him like any Alpha and protective mother would. She demanded to know what was happening, where was Stiles, was he injured – question after question. It was too much for him to process. Especially with one set of words running through his head:

  
  
_“_ _It is enough to kill your sister and all four of her brats…”_

 _  
  
_ _“_ _It is enough to kill your sister and all four of her brats…”_

 _  
  
_ _“_ _It is enough to kill your sister and all four of her brats…”_

 _  
  
_ _“_ _It is enough to -”_

  
  
“Uncle Peter…he’s going to kill us…”

  
  
He watched his mother’s gaze round in horror and disbelief. Caught the scent of uncertainty float around her. It wasn’t a surprise. She knew Peter was problematic and tried to undermine her every chance he could get…but the idea of him trying to kill anyone? It was hard to believe. If Derek hadn’t heard those words, he wouldn’t believe it either. But he had heard them. And those words Stiles had said to him over two weeks prior started to rattle around in his thoughts.

  
  
_“_ _Your precious Uncle Peter is a manipulative dick! A manipulative dick who is plotting something! And whatever it is, it’s going to get people hurt! Maybe even_ _**killed** _ _! And you can be in denial all you want, but you_ _**know** _ _I’m right! You_ _**know** _ _he would sooner kill you guys before he has to live another year with Miss Talia, or_ _**any** _ _of you, as his Alpha! If you could see his Light…you’d believe me.”_

  
  
“Derek…why are you so sure that your uncle is going to kill us?” his mother’s voice broke through sadly.

  
  
He swallowed, shaking his head. If he repeated what he heard…he would vomit everywhere. He was actually hoping that he had hallucinated the whole thing, and when Stiles got home that they would fight over Derek leaving him behind while hissing about Uncle Peter. Everything would be normal. Everything would be fine. Everything would be fine…

  
  
“Derek. I need you to tell me what happened, and where is Stiles?”

  
  
He flinched at the authority in her tone. She was trying to force him to tell her. Use her Alpha abilities over him. She _never_ did that. It was surprising and it made Derek that much more sick. He found himself unable to fight back. As he was opening his mouth, obliging to his Alpha’s orders, a car pulled up to their home. For a moment, he had no idea who it was. But then he caught a whiff of citrus and spices.

  
  
_Stiles_.

  
  
The car door opened, where sure enough, Stiles exited out of. There was much stumbling and fighting with the seatbelt, but he left the car nonetheless. And he wasn’t angry. Oh no. He was...worried.

  
  
“Thanks, Ms. McCall! Bye Scott! Bye Isaac!” he called out, not even looking back.

  
  
He was making long strides (as long as he could with his wobbly colt legs) towards his Alpha and Wolf Emissary. Didn’t pay no mind to the goodbyes he received back from their peers. Nor the little huff Scott’s mom did while leaning over to close his door.

  
  
No…he was focused on Derek and Derek alone.

  
  
It made Derek bolt off the porch and close the distance between them. He slammed right into Stiles’ chest, shaking and speaking incoherently. He could see the bewilderment in the Emissary’s whiskey gaze, but could also see the attempt to understand. But, alas, not even Derek could understand what the hell he was saying. All he did catch in his own ears, through his own shrilly panicked voice, was the word Peter.

  
  
That caught Stiles’ attention immediately.

  
  
“Whoa whoa whoa! What about Peter?”

  
  
He inhaled deeply, eyes watering. “Uncle Peter…he was at the school…he was talking to Mr. Harris…”

  
  
“Uhhhh…why?”

  
  
“A pouch. A little pouch. Said it would kill mom, Laura, Alek, Cora, and me. He wants to kill us. Wants the Alpha -”

  
  
Stiles slapped his hand across Derek’s mouth, face suddenly dark. Eyes were glowing almost black. His scent felt…off. Powerful. Infuriated. Derek watched as Stiles’ eyes shifted to over the shoulder…to his mother. He must have silently spoken to her, because she came in and swooped Derek up.

  
  
“We need to get everyone into the Secured Room. This might get ugly” she said grimly.

  
  
What? The Secured Room? The room for the young ones and humans unable to defend themselves in the event of an attack by old thought Hunters? But why? And why was she leaving Stiles behind?

  
  
“M-M-Mom! Stiles! We can’t -”

  
  
“Emissary Stilinski is doing what he’s trained to do. I will be behind him if he needs me. But everyone else…you will be in the Secured Room.”

  
  
“No! I want to be with Stiles! I want to help!”

  
  
“Derek…my little one…do you have the heart to help banish your uncle? Maybe even harm him?”

  
  
He pondered that over. Could he do that? Could he look his uncle in the eye, and stand by his Alpha and Emissary while kicking him out? Could he fight his uncle if things got messy? Could he kill his uncle if it got to that point?

  
  
Ask him that two years ago, and his answer would have been a strong, resounding no.

  
  
Asking him now…

  
  
By some stroke of luck, while his mother was ordering sternly the other Pack members to the Secured Room, Derek broke from her hold and darted down the stairs.

  
  
“DEREK!”

  
  
He ignored her. Ignored his sister’s shout that followed. Stiles. He had to get to Stiles. Help Stiles. Protect Stiles.

  
  
Protect his Pack mate.

  
  
He threw open the door, freezing in its frame. Peter was there. Glowering at Stiles with intense, fiery hatred. Claws out. Blue piercing glow. Fangs dropped. Body coiled in a pre-pounce.

  
  
He was going to hurt Stiles.

  
  
He was going to hurt _Pack_.

  
  
And Derek was standing there – rooted to the spot.

  
  
“What did you say?” growled Peter, overemphasizing his fangs.

  
  
Stiles straightened his posture, fingers flexing with little sparks darting between the tips. “Peter Elias Hale, it has come to out attention that you have acquired something that could cause the death of your Alpha and her successors. A witness has heard your transaction with the teacher Mr. Harris for a small pouch of these items. As Emissary of the Hale Pack, I’m asking you to peacefully leave and never come back. You are no longer welcomed on our land.”

  
  
The coldness and heaviness in Stiles’ voice caused Derek to quiver, nearly falling to his knees. How could someone so full of obnoxious life turn into… _this_?

  
  
“I forgot. You’ve never seen him conducting true Emissary practices.”

  
  
Hearing his mother gave him a mini heart attack. And when she touched him…he was sure she was going to drag him away.

  
  
But she didn’t.

  
  
“Derek, Wolf Emissary…watch your Emissary work.”

  
  
Her words chilled him to the bone as much as Stiles’ coldness towards his uncle.

  
  
And yet, he obeyed. Unable to tear his gaze away from what was happening before him.

  
  
Peter was now turning his glares on them, no longer paying attention to the fourteen year old boy in front of him. Just by his expression, it was clear that he knew that Derek had ratted him out. Betrayed him. That his sister was behind their Emissary and her son one hundred percent.

  
  
That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

  
  
“Do I at least get to plea my case, Talia?” he sighed, obviously attempting to sound like the good ol’ Uncle Peter everyone knew.

  
  
Not some plotter wanting to steal what wasn’t his.

  
  
Derek shuddered, forcing down more bile. In the back of his mind, he could feel the nagging sensation to rush forward and beg for forgiveness. To apologize profusely and say he heard wrong. He felt… _dirty_ knowing that. Knowing that his uncle had this much power over him.

  
  
Why…why hadn’t he noticed this sooner?

  
  
Talia wrapped her arms tightly around her son, a low rumble vibrating through her chest. “Peter…I have been keeping an eye on you since we were children. And you have never changed. Manipulative, cruel, cold, biting, power hungry. You have always undermined me. You have always despised that I was the oldest, so I was first in line for the power our mother held. Hearing that you plan to have myself and my children wiped out…I should be surprised. But I’m not. Upset, betrayed, and full of sorrow? Yes. Surprised? Honestly surprised? No. No, I’m not.”

  
  
With an eye roll, Peter huffed, “And where is your proof?”

  
  
“I think you know where my proof is.”

  
  
Again, his eyes flickered towards Derek, causing his nephew to flinch. He sighed, taking a step forward. An aggressive one. Immediately, Talia held tighter to her son, Derek leaned in closer to his mother, and Stiles…

  
  
The Emissary grabbed the disgraced wolf’s wrist, scowling with little emotion and his stare close to pitch black. “I said you’re not welcomed here.”

  
  
A heavy, hesitant, air hung around the two. Blew over to Derek and his mother, twisting his stomach into knots. He hoped to every holy being in existence that Peter would listen to the Emissary and leave. Leave and never bother them again, no matter how painful the thought was. Maybe he could even redeem himself while being banished! It could happen!

  
  
Suddenly, with his free arm, Peter elbowed Stiles in the face. _Hard_. So hard that Stiles collapsed onto the ground, hands over his face. The crying out Derek had heard shockingly came from himself – not Stiles.

  
  
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” hissed Peter, smug and taking a moment to be proud of his work.

  
  
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was rushing at his Pack mates like a linebacker. Talia roared, shoving Derek aside. Her claws were out and body poised for the defense. Her little brother had his own claws ready to slice her to ribbons. It was like watching a slow motion scene in a movie. Unreal, intense, and stomach churning.

  
  
Derek struggled to get back on his feet, wanting to help. He was fourteen, fifteen in four months, he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He wanted to help! Wanted to defend his Alpha, his mother!

  
  
The two unmovable forces never had a chance to collide.

  
  
Right as the banished wolf was lunging in the air, claws above his head, fangs bared, roar tearing through his throat…he was frozen. Hovering there. Unable to move a muscle.

 

The Alpha lowered her defenses, confused just like her brother. For a moment, Derek was gaping at his uncle as well. But, unlike his elders, he decided to tear his gaze away to figure out what had Peter floating there.

  
  
What he saw chilled his blood solid.

  
  
Covered in runes glowing a black velvet, a hand held out with fingers curled in mock clawing motion, eyes engulfed in unrivaled fury, and smelling heavily like electricity...was their _Emissary_.

 

It was…horrifying.

 

Stiles was a joker. A sarcastic shit. Lovable. Not… _this_. However, among the stench of electricity and anger, was that familiar protective aura he always wore. Especially when there were strangers among the Pack.

  
  
_“_ _I’ve been told that he is also incredibly loyal, protective, and will do anything to make sure those he cares about is safe.”_

  
  
“ **Peter Elias Hale, it has come to our attention that you have acquired something that could cause the death of your Alpha and her successors. A witness has heard your transaction with the teacher Mr. Harris for a small pouch of said item.** ” Stiles’ voice boomed in a frightening echo that caused the earth to quiver. “ **And now you have attempted to claw at your Alpha and her son. As Emissary of the Hale Pack, I’m asking you to peacefully leave and never come back…or find yourself perishing by my own hands in The Void. You are no longer welcomed on our land.** ”

  
  
Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking pretty confident for someone who couldn’t move.

  
  
“Then what are you waiting for? Take me to this _Void_ and kill me already! Brutalize the hell out of me! Maybe _then_ you’ll reach your full potential! Maybe _then_ you won’t be held back my sister’s naive way of thinking! People that hurt the Pack or try to hurt the Pack shouldn’t be left to live! We eventually come back to finish the job!”

  
  
There was a pause. A hesitation that rolled off of Stiles. Despite his threat, despite the need to protect…it was clear that the very idea of killing someone was sickening. That he didn’t expect to be challenged. That he didn’t think that he would actually have to follow through. His hands were trembling, his face was was scrunched up in preparation to bawl.

  
  
He didn’t have the heart in him to murder the disgraced wolf.

  
  
And Peter took notice.

  
  
Once again, the elder wolf scoffed, a smirk sitting there. “You’re just like my sister. Too scared to put down a threat.”

  
  
“There is a difference between being scared…and not wanting to become a monster.” Talia corrected coolly. “We may be predators…but we don’t have to be killers.”

  
  
“It’s that type of thinking that will get the Pack killed! And it will all be on your head, Talia! We can’t reason with anyone afraid of us!”

  
  
“And who has been afraid of us lately? We are the most progressive location in the state. In the _country_. Our population here is made up of mostly supernatural beings. You are afraid of an imaginary enemy.”

  
  
“And what happens when we leave Beacon Hills? What happens when Hunters drop by top make sure you’re keeping every last one of the wolves and other supernaturals in line, but they aren’t actually interested in that? What happens when they do to us what they did to your little Emissary’s parents?”

  
  
Stiles visibly winced. Derek followed suit. It was a low blow, pulling that card against the Alpha. And right in front of the person who had lost everything. Derek half expected the Emissary to lose it right there, dropping to his knees to sob uncontrollably. Because no matter how Stiles acted, Derek had heard the soft cries in the middle of the night. Had seen the farce joy on the anniversary of their deaths, their birthdays, and even Christmas.

  
  
A snarl escaped Derek, his mother being the only one keeping him from maiming Peter himself.

  
  
His uncle was shocked, possibly a little pained. But mostly…he was amused. Derek was known as the softest member of the Pack, despite the persona he gave off. Showing this type of anger was uncharacteristic.

  
  
“Good. Be angry. Anger is the best anchor you can have. It gets things done. It protects you.” Peter coached slyly, still trying to work his charm.

  
  
“ **It destroys you…** ”

  
  
A collective shiver brushed by the wolves. Stiles was now right under Peter, expression caked in salty tears and bitterness. Both hands were raised, the fingers dancing about hypnotically as Peter’s being was being rotated in the air. Like a rotisserie. The pouch slipped out of his pocket, likely with the help of Stiles’ Spark, (Because what else would this be? It was far too electricity smelling to be Emissary Magic.) and plopped onto the ground. It opened slightly, revealing a purple powder mixed with some bits of white crushed into it. And the stench made Derek finally puke over the side of the porch.

  
  
Wolfsbane. Mixed with Mistletoe.

  
  
Peter truly wanted them _dead_ …

  
  
“ **Resentment. Anger. It feels good at the time. Something to focus on away from the pain. But it does nothing.** ” explained Stiles lowly. “ **Though…I’m not beyond revenge if my anger is strong enough. Why do you think I was taken in by the Emissary Council? To prevent me from finding the Hunters that burned my parents to death. It wasn’t to give me a place to live or as some repayment to my parents. They were _ordered_ to do it by the government. Because I was going to go _kill_ those bastards. And I really, _really_ want to kill you right now. Wolfsbane and mistletoe? That’s not just wanting to get someone out of your way. That's fucking _overkill_**.”

  
  
His wrists began to rotate, making Peter turn upside down. There was something…thoughtful about the movements. As if he was biding time until he figured out what to do with the threat.

  
  
The whole thing was that much more nerve wracking knowing Stiles’ feelings.

  
  
Then again…could Derek be scared of him, or blame him for those thoughts?

  
  
Because if someone took his family, his Pack…he would lose himself to rage and despair.

  
  
“ **I** _ **should**_ **kill you.** ” mused their Emissary. “ **But I won’t. You know why? Because I’m going to do something worse.** ” His stare lifted up towards the Alpha and Wolf Emissary, serious, grim.“ **You should go. You won’t like what I’m about to do.** ”

  
  
There was no argument. No fight. Talia dragged her son back into the house, not looking back. Derek whimpered and tried to reach out for Stiles, but he was too far. He couldn’t reach. And he didn’t know why he wanted to reach out. He didn’t know a lot about everything he was experiencing. Just knew he ached and wanted to be by Stiles.

  
  
Halfway up the stairs…Peter’s agonized shrieks sounded off.

  
  
Both mother and son flung themselves into the nearest room with a window, just to see what was going on. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. They stumbled towards the window, being as discrete as possible when pulling the curtains back. Thankfully, this room had the perfect view of what was happening.

  
  
It was…

  
  
It should be impossible.

  
  
It was told in ghost stories to spook kids into behaving.

  
  
It was the boogeyman.

  
  
It was the “you better behave or else a Magic Holder will steal your wolf” moral of the story.

  
  
Except…except it was _real_.

  
  
Peter was lying on the grass, writhing and screaming with inhuman agony. Above him, Stiles was moving his hands like the wave in the ocean. He was still covered in the runes, but now they were staining Peter’s skin, too. The runes danced and produced a deep hum that itched at the wolves’ ears. The rapid whispers of incantations falling from Stiles’ lips swirled slightly above the rune hums, creating a harder itch within Derek.

  
  
All the while, something wispy and dark was being extracted from Peter. Its shape unknown until it all of the sudden formed a head. And ears. And paws. And howled.

  
  
“Goddess…he’s taking away Peter’s wolf…” breathed Talia, hand cupped over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

  
  
In that moment, Derek felt faint. But his world didn’t go black. He didn’t collapse to the floor. He didn’t puke again. He just stood there, despite his mother stepping away and pacing anxiously, watching as Peter’s wolf was being extracted from him. Listened to the screams. Listened to the itching calm of the runes humming and Stiles rapidly whispering incantations.

  
  
For some reason…it was… _awe inspiring_.

  
  
The guilt Derek ate up for thinking such a thing was mighty. But not as much as his need to see what happened next. To see the ghost story come true.

  
  
It felt like eternities piled upon eternities before the wolf had been fully removed. It curled into Stiles’ arms, solidifying into a runt sized pup with wild, gray and tabby fur. Its tail wagged and it let out a meek howl of joy. It looked up at Stiles as if he was its mother. Reeked of love. Stiles grinned, nuzzling the pup while Peter was hyperventilating.

  
  
“What…what…what did you do to me!?”

  
  
Stiles ignored him, cooing at the pup and giving it kisses. The runes started to fade away – the hum lingered, however. They faded from Peter as well, leaving behind puckering scars of their shapes. The electricity scent disappeared. Everything calmed, with the exception of Peter’s furious demands for answers.

  
  
Finally, staring up at the window where Derek gaped down at the scene, Stiles spoke.

  
  
“You are now human, Peter Elias Hale. You are no longer a threat. You also can’t move for a while. That gives the Emissary Council time to come pick you up and do with you what they wish. Which is a good idea. Because I still want you dead. And death in The Void would be… _amazing_. Cat and mouse, if you will. Would be satisfying. But you’re a waste of my time. So…lay here. Suffer. Pray that you’ll have a nice, cozy place in Eichen. Because that would be the kindest choice the Emissary Council could make.”

  
  
Stiles blinked, somehow slowing the world down. Derek was trapped in the stare – wooziness enveloping his soul. The Emissary held up the pup, smiling warmly. The pup unleashed yet another meek howl before it became wispy. Looking like a ghost from the movies, to be honest. It straightened up in Stiles’ hold, the posture that of a regal creature. It grew and grew till it was a grown adult. Then, it exploded into a cloud of blue lights.

  
  
Immediately, through the reflection in the window, Derek saw his eyes glow blue. Followed by the rapid whoosh of power coursing through him. His head rolled and he groaned, confused and feeling much more woozy. It took a while to gathering his bearings. A while to come back from whatever that was.

  
  
By the time he had, the Pack had been set loose from the Secure Room. Chaos was darting across the halls. The human members were doing their best to contain the pouch of death until the Emissary Council came to collect it. His mother was keeping people out of the room where Derek was, surprisingly, lying on the floor. No matter how much anyone wanted to see him, no matter how strong their arguments were, she would not let anyone in.

  
  
Minus Stiles.

  
  
He was there, sitting with his legs crossed, staring intensely at Derek.

  
  
“You fainted.” he stated with a shrug.

  
  
For some reason, Derek was able to pout and huff at the comment. As if nothing had happened. “I did not.”

  
  
“You did. But that’s okay. It happens. Or so I’ve been told. Not many people do what I did, so…”

  
  
Remembering what he saw, Derek nodded slowly. Carefully. “What _did_ you do?”

  
  
“I took Peter’s wolf. Thought that was obvious? You were watching.”

  
  
“I mean _after_. With the…with the pup.”

  
  
“Ah. That. Um…well…something illegal. I won’t tell if you won’t. Miss Talia already said she wouldn’t. So…yeah. Mouth shut about what I did. Because I wasn’t supposed to do that. I was supposed to destroy it. Kill it. Bash it in. All sorts of nasty things. And instead…I went and did something illegal in the realm of Magic Holders and Emissaries. But it wasn’t his wolf’s fault! I couldn’t destroy something that was innocent! Corrupted not by choice. I mean, you saw it! It was a sweet little thing!”

  
  
“Stiles…what did you _do_?”

  
  
Stiles worried at his lip, his body twitching subtly, fighting the need to advert his gaze. His cheeks lit up in reds and pinks. Sighs eventually escaped. And then…came the words.

  
  
“Derek…I made us more powerful. The innocent wolf has been added onto what we already have in us. I divided the power of the wolf between us. I mean, if I just gave it to me, you’d still feel it since we’re kinda connected through the whole Wolf Emissary dealio. And if I gave it to only you, I would still feel it for the same reasons. But I gave us each half. So….um…we now are a lot more powerful than we already are. And no one will notice! Hopefully. Maybe. We might have to play it down a bit.”

  
  
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense! And yet, all Derek could say in response was, “Okay.”

  
  
That was it. “Okay”. Nothing more, nothing less. He was too tired and drained and dizzy to really delve deeper into whatever Stiles had done. He laid an arm across his eyes, groaning in protest.

  
  
“Sorry, bud. But if anyone deserved it…it was you.”

  
  
“Laura is gonna be the next Alpha, Stiles.”

  
  
“Then you will be the baby brother that is gonna help her out! You know you will. Cora and her have Alek, you, and me wrapped around their fingers.”

  
  
“Mmm.”

  
  
“I’ll help you with controlling this. Okay?”

  
  
“Sure.”

  
  
“Your Yoda, I will be.”

  
  
“Stiles…no.”

  
  
“Oh c'mon! Why do you hate on Star Wars, dude?”

  
  
“I don’t hate it. Just you.”

  
  
“Now I know that’s not true! Sure, I piss you off, get under your skin, talk your ear off…but you love me all the same.”

  
  
“Mmm.”

  
  
There was a small tap on his shoulder. Barely there. A hand followed suit, gripping tightly and rubbing his thumb across the shoulder.

  
  
“Derek…I mean it. I’ll help out. I was trained in helping the Alpha with young pups and newly bitten wolves control. And you’re a _natural_. You’ll figure this out in no time!”

  
  
The optimism masked the fear of failure, but it was still welcomed. A smile tugged at Derek’s lips and he blindly grabbed at the hand on his shoulder.

  
  
“Okay. I trust you.”

  
  
**~+~**

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next three chapters are going to be the heavy ones! There will be some light hearted stuff, but they will mostly be a little heavy. So here is your warning! (might not need tissues, but you never know)
> 
> This chapter has Kate in it and her...shenanigans. So here is the final warning, besides the ones in the tags, that there will be Kate topics in this chapter - attempted rape/non-con, and stalking. There will also be a part where Stiles attacks her. 
> 
> Those are the MAJOR warnings for anyone who may not wish to read something like that, which is 100% understandable. After this chapter, Kate won't be seen again until the first or second chapter of Part Two, where she gets what she deserves. She will be talked about, but she won't be seen again.
> 
> And with that, I hope you do enjoy what little happiness there will be ^^;

One would think, in the almost year since Stiles took away Peter’s wolf and split the power between Derek and himself, that something useful would come out of it.

 

And there were some useful things! Stiles intuition went from great to ‘holy shit oh no you’re bad and I can smell it from a mile away’. He was able to read Lights a million times better, and he had already been a prodigy in that regard in the first place! He was more able to protect his Pack and negotiate with those who thought it was a good idea to threaten the Hale Pack. (And by negotiate, he meant threaten and scare the shit out of them.)

  
  
Derek had some boosts as well! His senses were boosted almost above his own mother’s. His control was outstanding – barely had any problems or bad days with it like before. His strength had grown, which was good because for a Werewolf...his strength was kind of null-n-void. He also obtained the coveted full wolf shift that only the Alphas of the family could do. Laura was definitely jealous, but it was normally shoved aside when she decided to go into one of her 'Do a wolfie trick, Dee-Dee!' moods.

  
  
And then...there were days like _today_.

  
  
Currently, Stiles was creating little hoops of farce fire for Derek to jump through in his wolf form. Not for kicks and giggles, though they had done that in the past. It was to cheer up Cora, who was both distraught and pissed off.

  
  
Earlier at school, Cora had punched this bastard that had snapped her bra. She used a little _too much_ force and broke his nose. It was a giant cluster of fucks. The parents screaming at Miss Talia about how she needed to control her little monster or else they would call in some Hunters to do it for her. Miss Talia shot back that maybe the parents should teach their son what sexual harassment was.

  
  
And when the principal and the brat’s parents dared utter the words 'boys will be boys’…Stiles (he had to go since he is the Emissary and was supposed to be the one to keep things from blowing up) lost. his. shit.

  
  
He shook the entire room with Emissary Magic as he passionately, and in a monstrously pissed off manner, explained how that excuse was medieval and was the reason why boys got away with assaulting anything with legs. He went so far as to threaten to personally teach the shit-stick a lesson if there was only a slap on the wrist.

  
  
“I like tits _and_ dicks! You don’t see me getting into their personal space, grabbing an intimate piece of clothing, and snapping it! You know whyyyyy? Because I don’t drink up that bullshit privilege that says I get to do whatever I want to girls! And guys. Guys can be sexually harassed, too. And you’re lucky that _Cora_ was the one that punched you, buddy! 'Coz I can one hundred percent guarantee that if it was either one of her brothers that punched you…you would have _more_ than a broken nose. If it was her sister that punched you…you’d be _eating through a straw_. And if it was _me_ …oh…I wouldn’t punch you. But I would make sure you would need _therapy_ till the day you _die_.” was his closing statement.

  
  
What followed was the principal being terrified, and giving both Cora and the brat detention, the boy having it worse. The boy’s parents grumbled with disdain about how right the Emissary had been. And an awkward drive home, (Of course Stiles was driving. Miss Talia wanted Stiles to drive the newly repaired Jeep left to him from his late mother as much as possible.) where Miss Talia and Cora talked about Stiles coming out as bisexual in the…not most traditional way.

  
  
“Is that why that one time you came home smelling like that Heather girl, and then weeks after smelling like that Māhealani kid who is on the lacrosse team with you?” asked Cora with a teary smirk.

  
  
“We are not talking about my sex life in front of your mom! A thing you shouldn't know things like _that_ in the first place, missy!” Stiles squeaked, feeling his face burn up like the sun.

  
  
“Oh Stiles…it’s okay. I already know plenty about it.” Miss Talia hummed.

  
  
“Oh my hell…please don't elaborate…”

  
  
He would never admit it, but seeing Cora laugh at his embarrassment was worth it. She had been in angry tears during the whole ordeal in the office. That alone made him ready to tear up the entire world just to fix it. Because no one, not _anyone_ , made his Pack mates cry.

  
  
And that’s how they ended up here. In the living room, with Derek shifted into full wolf and jumping through fake fire hoops that Stiles had manifested like this was the circus.

 

With quite the audience, as well.

  
  
Normally, Derek would huff and puff, and grunt out a rough 'no’. But when Stiles explained what happened, the wolf bent over backwards to do anything for his baby sister. Even went so far as to call every single person Cora wanted him to call. Which is a huge deal giving that Derek had severe anxiety when it came to phone calls.

  
  
As Derek jumped through the hoops, showing off his back flipping skills, Cora sat there with her massive bowl of ice cream, giggling. Her friends Hayden, Liam, Mason, and Corey all whooped loudly, tossing at them the Monopoly money that Laura brought down as a joke. Stiles’ and Derek’s friends Scott, Kira, Boyd, Lydia, Isaac, and Erica were whistling and applauding obnoxiously. Laura, the only other Hale in the living room, kept giving orders while laughing.

  
  
“C'mon, Dee-Dee! Howl and do a three-sixty!”

  
  
“Whoa, Laur! Calm down!” Stiles snorted. “You’ll make him overload. And when he overloads -”

  
  
Derek let out a howl as he did a three-sixty through the smaller of the many fire hoops, shutting Stiles up and causing the audience to holler.

  
  
“Effing show-off…”

  
  
The literal wolf preened, trotting around like the fanciest pony in the world. Stiles would be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking of lighting an actual fire under that floof of a tail.

  
  
This went on for about three hours – the hoops changing from fire to water, to wind, to earth (“Am I suddenly the Avatar, here?!” “Yes, Magic Balls. Now do some metal! Gotta represent Toph’s other bending!” “Fine fine. And don’t you be laughing over there, Reyes! I was the one that helped you get that special present for Boyd!”), to metal, to plants, and finally lightning. After the three hours, Derek was spent and Stiles had his face in the carpet.

  
  
“Damn. Didn’t think you guys would last that long.” hummed Lydia pleasantly.

  
  
“Is that what Heather and Māhealani said when you were with them, Stiles?” Cora inquired rather innocently. _Fake_ innocently.

  
  
All eyes fell on Stiles. He could feel it, despite his face directly facing the floor. He let out a loud groan, upset that he couldn’t wring her neck. Cora was a bad secret keeper. Everyone knew that. But he had a sliver of hope that she wouldn’t mention this.

 

Besides, she was eleven. How in the hell could she make comments like _that_?! Probably was Laura's fault. She was a bad influence.

  
  
“Wait… _you_ were the hot date Danny was talking about months ago?” gawked Isaac in shock.

  
  
“You did them at the same time?” Scott gasped.

  
  
“You do realize that he probably did it with them at two separate times?” Kira sighed. (Good ol’ Kira. Always coming to Stiles’ aid when Derek wasn’t able to.) “There is a thing called being bisexual but not promiscuous or wanting polyamory. You know, like any other person in existence.”

  
  
“It’s also not cool to talk about someone’s sex life or orientation if they don't want to…” added Corey in his shy voice. Probably was slouching a little to hide.

  
  
“How have _you_ had sex and I haven’t?” Laura pouted.

  
  
“Would you all shut up?”

  
  
The new voice made Stiles perk up in a panic. If Derek was speaking, that meant he had shifted back to bipedal form. And if he had shifted back to bipedal form…

  
  
Stiles tore off the hoodie he was wearing and draped it over Derek’s sensitive bits. Nearly hit him square in the balls. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. Derek was sitting in a way that would hide as much as possible. But still! Dude was naked! Not cool!

  
  
There were shrieks and several “Dude! No!” when people realized. Derek rolled his eyes, not the least bothered. Which, yeah. Derek was pretty comfy with his bod that being naked didn’t really bother him. It was a new thing. And it wasn’t bad! But it was a little awkward when Stiles still shared a bedroom with him, and woke up several times to a naked Derek sprawled out in bed. And of course moments like this. All sorts of awkward.

  
  
“Mother! Tell your son to stop randomly shifting back to two legs when he isn’t in a place where he can get into clothes!” cried Laura and Cora in unison, both shielding their eyes.

  
  
There was a half hearted, exasperated sigh before Miss Talia called from the kitchen, “Derek, sweetie, I know you are confident in your skin, and I am so proud of you for feeling that way, but please stop flashing everyone.”

  
  
“It’s okay, Ms. Hale!” Liam piped. “Stiles threw his hoodie across the privates! We don’t see anything!”

  
  
“Well, except part of his ass…” muttered Boyd.

 

“Okay okay!” Stiles huffed, thoroughly done with all the nonsense. He got to his feet, making shooing motions at the lot. “Vacate the premises, children! I have to get Derek to make friends with clothing. And no peeking from wherever you run to! That’s just rude.”

  
  


It took a while to usher everyone into the kitchen, where Miss Talia had told them to go, but it was done. And with minimal fuss! Once that was done, Stiles did everything in his power to escort Derek up the stairs to their room with as little of accidental exposure as possible. The Pack members they passed rolled their eyes, making jokes about the ‘little wolf being a little less hairy than expected’.

  
  


And then there was Alek right next to their door.

  
  


He stood there, a little shell shocked at first. His face went through an array of emotions before settling on one: begrudged acceptance.

  
  


“Seriously, Derek? _Again_?”

  
  


Derek rumbled out a faint growl, smirking with his fangs. His elder sibling did an eye roll before passing the boys, ruffling their hair as he went. After that, Stiles shoved Derek into their room, finding clothes and throwing them at his head.

  
  


“Get dressed! I want those tacos I know Miss Cosette is making!”

  
  


The Wolf Emissary grinned, purposely taking his time. “She _always_ makes those tacos when company is over.”

  
  


“So?! Those tacos are like the manna from heaven!”

  
  


“ _You_ can make those tacos. She taught you how.”

  
  


“It’s not the same!”

  
  


A playful huff escaped Derek, along with a soft grin. As if he knew Stiles was right. Something he had learned a lot since the whole Peter thing.

  
  


“So…” he started, still softly grinning, still playful. “About time you officially came out...”

  
  


“Wait…you knew?”

  
  


“I have a nose, Stiles.”

  
  


“Oh...my shit. I knew I should’ve used Magic to get rid of those smells! Argh!” Stiles dragged his hands down his face, a poor attempt to disguise how red it was. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  
  


“Not my place.”

  
  


“True. Still, I'm gonna say thanks.”

  
  


“Please don’t.”

  
  


“Derek. Derek. Deeeeerrrrreeeek! Thank you for not calling out my sexuality.”

  
  


His roommate chucked a pillow at his head, hitting the mark as always. Stiles sputtered and staggered against the wall. Flailed a little. Caught the pink ear tips. Smirked a lot. Got another pillow to the head. Somehow brought out a laugh from his pillow attacker. Followed by just a fit of laughing.

  
  


For a time.

  
  


Stiles fell suddenly somber, finally able to ask Derek the one question that had been on his tongue all day. “Are we gonna tell your mom about... _it_?”

  
  


Derek flinched, his eyes flashing and his body recoiling into itself.

  
  


The ‘ _it_ ’ Stiles was referencing to was…this thing had been happening for a few weeks now.

  
  


Started after lacrosse practices once the season came around. As per usual, Derek would be at the Jeep waiting for Stiles to drive them, and whoever else wanted to tag along, home. However, there was a change in the routine.

 

This change came in the unwelcome form of a woman, who had to be in her late twenties-early thirties, flocking over to Derek and attempting to flirt with him. _Hardcore_. Each and every time she came, Derek would shrink away with this look that screamed uncomfortable. He could easily overpower her – use his born and earned gifts to chase her off. But Derek wasn’t that kind of person. He didn’t like to physically scare or harm people. So he would deal with it, making non-committal noises and avoid eye contact.

  
  


The first time it happened where Stiles caught her in the act, this mystery woman scattered before he could get a good read on her. She was a blur and a story that Derek reluctantly told. The second time…he could read her. Memorized every detail he could about her. Nearly lurched over to hurl when he caught full wind of her Light.

  
  


It was… _bottomless_. A…never ending pit of pure _darkness_. Suffocation of hatred blended with an unwillingness to understand what was different from her. It took him longer than needed to recovery from being drowned in such a Light. By then, she had scattered once more.

  
  


The third time it happened, Stiles steeled himself and marched right up to her. He allowed his Spark to seep out, causing Derek to shudder and whimper. She caught on and spotted Stiles a little too late. He got right up her face, threatening her and demanding if she knew what pedophilia was. She laughed it off, telling him that he was overreacting and that Derek enjoyed her company. Judging by Derek’s increasingly distressed expression, it was a clear lie that he was not enjoying her one bit. Stiles called her out on her lie and promised hell to pay if he saw her again. She called him a buzzkill, blew a kiss at Derek, and sauntered off as seductively as possible.

  
  


Unfortunately, that didn’t chase her off. Because he caught her for a _fourth_ time.

  
  


Thankfully, Derek had decided to take Stiles’ keys this time and had locked himself in the Jeep. He was hunched over in the back seat, covering his ears and screaming at her to leave him alone. Stiles, accompanied by Boyd, Isaac, and Kira this time, bolted towards her – shouting. Kira even started dialing the cops as the mystery woman fled. Boyd and Isaac chased her down, while Stiles tried to bring Derek down from his panic attack. Sadly, they couldn’t catch her. She had been faster than anticipated, and with just coming out of lacrosse practice, the boys were low on stamina. The police came, took their statements, and said they would look into it.

  
  


They also promised to contact Stiles and _only_ Stiles if they found anything out.

  
  


No need to alert Miss Talia just yet. Or, well, there was, but Derek didn't want her to know. Not now.

  
  


Days passed without any incident. They lowered their guard. Waited eagerly for a status update from the police. Sometimes, they thought they would see her. But it was in the corner of their eyes. Too quick to tell. They brushed it off as nothing, but still tried to keep close at times. Just in case.

  
  


Then, earlier today, before being dragged along to help with the Cora situation, Stiles was in the locker room getting dressed for practice when he felt it. That same disgusting Light he had grown all too familiar with. Half dressed, Stiles raced towards it. Panic swelled in his chest when he felt Derek’s Light right next to that woman’s Light. In severe distress.

  
  


He had never ran so fast, so hard in his life. He could feel his breathing grow shallow – almost impossible to get out. His head was spinning and he was ready to trip over his feet. It only grew worse the closer to the Light he became. And once he was right on top of it…

  
  


“N-no...stop...”

  
  


“Oh, come on, sweetheart. I know you want it.”

  
  


“No. Go away...leave me alone. Stop...”

  
  


Everything happened in slow motion. Stiles blew the door open, not even bothering to keep a cap on any of his Magic. He barely heard the cries of surprise. Barely heard the sound of the door being reduced to splinters when is crashed against the opposite wall. Hardly registered much before him except one thing: the woman, she…she…

  
  


She was attempting to take off Derek’s clothes. Her fingers curled around his fly. She was already down to her bra and her jeans were undone. Derek’s claws were popped out, meaning he was ready to claw at her to stop her from forcing herself on him.

  
  


It was that knowledge that set him off.

  
  


He didn’t think twice. He encased all three of them in glowing runes, his lips moving faster than the words he could hear. The woman screamed in agony, falling to her knees as she scratched her skin raw. Idiot. As if that would dispose of the runes. Derek was shuddering, staring at Stiles in dazed confusion more than fear. Stiles shuddered with him, but more out of an unquenchable fury than out of the burn going to The Void brought.

  
  


One shudder, two shudder, three shudder – black.

  
  


The Void greeted them with relentless screeching winds. Greeted them with a sickly, inverted version of the world they lived in. No life. No light. No cheer. No warmth. A place simply in existence for punishment.

  
  


And punishment this witch would get.

  
  


Just as Derek was opening his mouth to ask what was going on, his hands shielding his ears from the overwhelming wind, Stiles stormed over to the target. The woman was startled, surveying where the hell she was with a flicker of fear. She didn’t even see the right hook Stiles landed across her face. But she did laugh, fucking _laughed_ , afterwards. He punched her again, anger boiling over when she continued to laugh and had _the gall_ to say that Derek was just playing hard to get!

  
  


That was when he launched her into the lifeless version of the classroom wall, and told her she better run. She didn’t. Not until Stiles started shooting out pure, unsheathed Spark at her.

  
  


It was a slight blur after that. All he remembered was that he followed her slowly, balls of electricity flying effortless from his fingertips. He had Derek begging him to stop at one point, saying they weren't killers, and he obliged. Then, once reentering their world, their friends were there with Coach Finstock. All it took was Stiles to say, “She…she tried to rape Derek…” with a hundred yard stare, and the police were there within minutes.

  
  


Once again, they agreed to not tell Miss Talia until Stiles brought her. Promised to keep her locked up and not allow any interrogations until they were ready. (The joys of having a deceased father that used to run the place.)

  
  


It was…traumatizing to say the least. And Stiles completely understood if Derek didn’t want to tell his mother right now. He was surprised that Derek wanted to be close to him after seeing what he did. After seeing the woman lying on the floor of the classroom bloody and trembling. After seeing his Emissary blind with rage.

  
  


Surprised that any of them could pretend that nothing had happened...

  
  


Finally, Derek approached Stiles, gripping at his shoulder with a firm stare. It made Stiles jolt back into alertness, having forgotten for a moment that they were safely at home in their bedroom.

  
  


“We can tell her tomorrow. After we go to the station and find out who she is and…and why she was so interested in me…”

  
  


Stiles nodded, gripping at the hand on his shoulder. “How are you? I forgot to ask after Cora’s whole thing. Goddess…I can’t believe I could forget. It happened literally _hours_ ago…”

  
  


The wolf shook his head, hazels watering. “I’m…not...I…I feel…I feel like I’m going to collapse within. I…why did she…why me? What…what did she want? What…what did I do…why…”

  
  


Stiles instantly cupped Derek’s cheeks as carefully as possible. Made it so if he wanted to escape then he could. Made it so he wasn’t trapped. Derek winced but stayed put. Whimpered a little. Sniffed, too.

  
  


“It wasn’t you, okay? _You_ did nothing wrong. You’re not in the wrong – _she_ is. She’s…she is _evil_. Her Light is so dark that…dude…I can’t even describe it! Something is not right, and we need to be careful. And the way she moved…it reminded me of a... _Hunter_.”

  
  


Derek’s eyes rounded in absolute horror. “Do you think she was?”

  
  


“I dunno. I’ll warn Miss Talia about it. Vaguely. But…Derek…you did nothing wrong. And if she is a Hunter…then she is a sicko who probably wanted to get close to someone in the Pack just to bring us down. For some reason...she picked you. We gotta watch our backs more carefully now. Okay?”

  
  


The wolf nodded, determination blazing. “Okay.”

  
  


With their little talk over, they joined the Pack downstairs for a typical, noisy, chipper dinner. Later, Stiles pulled the Alpha aside and told her that he believed there were Hunters that wanted to bring them harm in town. He told her about the woman, of course leaving out some details until Derek was ready to tell her, and how tomorrow, after dropping Cora at home after lacrosse practice and her detention, that he would go with Derek to the police station to discover who she was.

  
  


Fortunately, Miss Talia nodded and listened intensely throughout the whole thing. If she heard Stiles’ heart skipping beats as he lied, she didn’t mention it. Just listened and told him to call her the minute he found out who this woman was that tormented them. Also, she told him that she thought it was a great idea to bring Derek along as he never saw the Emissary at work as much as Laura.

  
  


That night, Derek crawled into Stiles’ bed wordlessly and burrowed his face into his neck. Stiles carded his finger through the thick mop of black, making a quiet joke about globs of gel that earned him a low snarl. They whispered their plans for tomorrow, trying to figure out how to tell their Alpha about the attempted assault. They knew once they told her…she would go berserk. (As she should, but it was their goal to not have the most powerful Alpha go berserk.)

  
  


Eventually, they drifted off to sleep, a plan haphazardly made.

  
  


In the morning, Stiles woke up feeling…really, _really_ off. His stomach was twisted, his head was ringing, he was lethargic. Just…off. It reminded him of the day that…

  
  


At breakfast, before everyone went their separate ways, Stiles begged for them to be extra careful. Miss Talia agreed, telling them that there may be some unfriendly Hunters around. As they all departed, they gave long hugs, scented each other, and said sincere ‘I love yous’. Stiles sat there in the driveway for longer than necessary, worrying both Derek and Cora. When asked what was wrong, he shrugged it off, forcing himself to smile and make jokes the entire ride to the middle school and high school.

  
  


The feeling didn’t leave once they met up with their friends and classes started.

  
  


Safe to say that it became _worse_.

  
  


The day dragged on and on and on, creating copious amounts of anxiety ridden bile bubbles tickling his throat. Lacrosse practice didn’t help, either. He couldn’t concentrate here any better than he had in class. Probably was more poor, even, if the four times he got a ball to the head said anything. In the locker room, Boyd, of all people, asked if he was okay.

  
  


“You looked like you were somewhere else.”

  
  


“Yeah. I noticed that in History, too.” Isaac echoed.

  
  


“Kira said that you didn’t bother to correct the English teach on how _Romeo and Juliet_ is a real love story when it isn't.” added Scott. “What’s up?”

  
  


Stiles shrugged, keeping a close handle on where Derek’s Light was. “Dunno. Something isn’t right. I don’t know what…I just... _know_ that something isn’t right.”

  
  


They didn’t pester him about it any further. And the girls didn’t either once they entered the hallway. Derek didn’t hesitate to start scenting him, whining slightly. Stiles patted his back, smiling weakly, and said that they needed to go grab Cora.

  
  


The walk to the parking lot was grimly quiet. The departure was also tame. Scott and Isaac were walking to the vet’s where Deaton’s day job was, looking to apply. Lydia had a major project to do, so she was driving over to where her group wanted to meet up. Boyd and Erica got a ride from Mrs. Reyes, demanding an update on the mystery woman once her secrets were known. Kira was the only one to join Derek and Stiles in the Jeep. However, instead of talking their ears off (and she can talk as in make Stiles run for his money talk), she was silent. Staring out the window the entire trip to the middle school.

  
  


Cora was outside the school waiting for them, her mood obviously sour. It lightened the very second she saw Kira with them. She began rattling off about her day before she even hopped in. It was nice, honestly. She livened the mood. Made Stiles forget for a brief moment that he had been suffering through this day with an ominous feeling.

  
  


Was short lived.

  
  


The Jeep wasn’t even out of the parking lot when Stiles slammed on the breaks as hard as he could. His breathing was quick, short, almost wheezing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Derek gripping at the dashboard with claws out, breathing just as hard. So he felt it, too.

  
  


Felt Miss Cosette’s Thread, Light, disappear.

  
  


“What…what was that?” came Cora’s voice, shaken.

  
  


“Guys? What’s going on?” Kira piped up, scared and in the dark.

  
  


No one answered. They sat there, stunned and lost. What happened to Miss Cosette? What…

  
  


Another Light vanished. Going so fast that it could give whiplash.

  
  


Cora let out a cry, covering her mouth in order to muffle her sobs. Kira continued to ask what was going on with panic rising in her voice. Derek’s claws started to go through the dashboard, inches away from popping the airbag.

  
  


The third Light wet out.

  
  


Stiles slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, not caring about any speed limits. They had to get home. They had to get to the Pack. If a cop tried to pull them over, he was going to ruin their day. Fuck the consequences! Something was going on with the -

  
  


A fourth Light. A fifth Light. A sixth Light.

  
  


Lights. So many Lights going out faster than he could drive!

  
  


“What’s going on?!” bawled Cora, curled up against Kira. “Why is everyone’s Thread going away?!”

  
  


A firetruck zoomed past them, sirens blaring. Dread swallowed the occupants of the Jeep. Hell…was there a fire? Was that what was happening to the Pack? No…it couldn’t be. They could get out of a fire! There was also the Secured Room! If they were somehow trapped, they could get into that room and sneak out through the passage it held! It had to be something else…

  
  


Nevertheless, Stiles tailed the firetruck, holding back all his emotions each time a new Light faded away. It was growing harder to breath the closer they got to the preserve. The more the firetruck went in the direction they were headed.

  
  


“Don’t turn left….” he breathed, hands gripping the wheel and turning white. “Please…please don’t turn left.”

  
  


They came upon the turn into the preserve. And…

  
  


The truck turned left.

  
  


“Fuck!”

  
  


Stiles turned sharply right behind it, hyperventilating. There was smoke in view now. Lots of it. The smell crept through the seals of the Jeep. The house…it was…on fire. No. No, that wasn’t possible. There was no way! It could be somewhere else in the preserve! Fire…fire wasn’t taking out the Pack. Taking out his family.

  
  


Cora suddenly screamed bloody murder, thrashing about in the back. She clawed at Kira, attempting to escape. Lucky for Kira that she was kitsune and could heal, or else she would never recover from the attack. But what ignited it in the first place? Stiles was too busy driving like a bat out of hell, wanting to catch up to the firetruck and get to the Pack that he hadn’t noticed that another Light left. Not until he heard Derek choke out the name.

  
  


“Laura…”

  
  


No…Laura…she was... _gone_? She was the last person Stiles thought could ever be taken from them! She was tough as nails! Witty! Smart! There was…it couldn’t be…

  
  


More Lights went out as they raced along the path to the Hale house. The worse were the little ones.

  
  


“What’s going on…” Derek gritted out, his body fighting the urge to shift.

  
  


“I don’t -”

  
  


Once more, Stiles slammed on his breaks. This time near the end of the driveway.

  
  


The house…it was engulfed in flames. Sky high flames.

  
  


“Oh my god…” Kira’s breath hitched. “Oh my god…”

  
  


Cora wailed, the only word she could get out being an unbearable ‘no’. Derek and Stiles gaped in absolute horror, frozen in their seats. Their home…it was being rendered to ashes. Into nothing. With Lights leaving them. Threads being cut. Lives…gone.

  
  


It was too much to take in. Sirens screeching all around them. People fighting to put out the fire. So much shouting. So much chaos.

  
  


And then…

  
  


Derek suddenly unleashed the most earth shattering scream. Everyone in the car jumped, their hearts leaping through their throats. He was hunched over, fingers curled around his eyes as if he was going to gouge them out. His body was wracked with tremors and he started kicking his feet where he could. Stiles lunged forward, his seatbelt dead set on wanting to keep him back. He fought to get Derek’s hands away from the eyes. Kira helped as much as she could. Cora kept going on about Threads being cut and sobbing uncontrollably.

  
  


“Derek! Stop!” Stiles barked, digging nails into the wrists of his Pack mate. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

  
  


With Kira’s help, Stiles got Derek’s hands away. Got him to open them, too.

  
  


Red. They were _red_.

  
  


_Alpha_ red.

  
  


That meant…

  
  


Frantically, he searched. He searched and searched among the few fleeting Lights left to find her.

  
  


But she wasn’t there.

  
  


She…she was gone.

  
  


Miss Talia was _gone_.

  
  


“Mommy…mommy…no…” whimpered the eleven year old in the back.

  
  


Her words brought on a series of flashbacks. Right back to when a fire stole John and Claudia Stilinski. To when he felt their Lights give out. To when he heard them screaming and beating on the door of their bedroom, trapped by an anti-Magic barrier the Hunters had somehow smuggled into the house. To when Stiles was scrambling through the smoke, coughing and unable to get up the stairs. To when he lost everything.

  
  


Not again. Not again. _Not again_.

  
  


His mind was in a fog when he barreled out of the Jeep. Heard Derek calling out for him in the distance. Like he was under water. Anyone that tried to stop him was pushed back by a wall of intense Magic. He could feel his eyes flickering and stinging with each color change as he approached the burning house, meaning that Mountain Ash was nearby. That was why no one was coming out. They were trapped inside.

  
  


Just like his parents had been…

  
  


He let loose an infuriated cry, leaping at the collapsing door. He was going to save them. He was going to do his job and protect the Pack. What was left of it.

  
  


Suddenly, he was in the air. Then on the ground with a sickening crack. Next…

  
  


Agony. Unimaginable agony. He had never felt this much pain before. It was too much. All consuming. Mind numbing. He was rendered to nothing but a heap of hideous yowls that caused the earth to tremble. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t thrash about in his agony. Just make noises that were inhuman. Make them louder and louder and louder.

  
  


Until he faded out – unable to bear the pain any longer.

  
  


**~+~**

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the event!
> 
> https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little long and loaded with...a lot. And overload of world building and other things. I'm sorry ;_;

Gone.

  
  


The Pack was all _gone_.

  
  


Every last one of them.

  
  


Only Cora and Stiles were there with him. Had stayed.

  
  


And Stiles was currently out cold on a hospital bed. Hooked up to machines. Covered in slow healing burns that didn’t look at all like burns. A ginormous cast on his left arm. Smelling nothing like the citrus and spices they were used to. Now he reeked of hospital. And burnt flesh.

  
  


It was…utter misery without him to talk to.

  
  


Without his two cents.

  
  


Cora hadn’t talked much – her gaze a thousand miles away. Their friends had dropped by but rarely talked. Mostly sat in silence with them, warily watching Stiles' unconscious frame.

 

People whom Derek hadn’t met ever in his life dropped into Stiles’ room to offer condolences and other things that Derek had no interest in hearing. Along with members of the Emissary Council, bothering them with politics that Derek couldn't focus on. Not without Stiles.

  
  


 

The police had also stopped by, saying they were gathering up what was left of the house and placing them in a storage unit they would pay for. Said the fire was the work of Hunters for sure. Were certain that the mystery woman was somehow involved, too, but she wouldn’t talk. Derek muttered that once Stiles was awake and they had taken care of things, they would come by and _make_ her talk.

  
  


Melissa McCall, Scott’s mom, was the only nurse allowed to come in and actually do her job. All the others were shooed off by her rather sternly. She didn’t offer condolences. Didn’t say she was so sorry for their loss. She just did her job. And offered them anything they needed. Food, clothes, drinks, pillows, blankets – whatever they wanted, she would bring.

  
  


When Derek coldly inquired if she could bring back his family, she went somberly silent.

  
  


Four days passed. Stiles began to stir, a hoarse groan leaving him. That was the only time Derek had seen Cora perk to attention since...

  
  


“Where…?”

  
  


Stiles didn’t finish the question. He could tell where he was in an instant. He let out a weak, choked 'oh’ before he lost it. He kicked, shrieked, hit what he could, and wept so loudly that Derek was certain they outdid his bursts of shrieks. Derek could hear the hospital staff rushing to the room, and he went on the defense. He curled up his lip into a snarl and roared the very second the unwanted staff members entered the room.

  
  


“ **GET**! **OUT**!”

  
  


Surprisingly, they obeyed, leaving as quickly as they had arrived.

  
  


For an hour, Stiles was out of control. The hospital was definitely going to need to fix the room. He had created quite a few cracks and dents. Had also destroyed all the pictures. Broke the bathroom door. Bent the faucet on the sink.

  
  


All without moving from his bed.

  
  


He grew practically mute once he had finished. Voice ruined from all the shrieking. He laid still in the bed, staring emptily at the ceiling. With his good hand, he reached out for nothing, and resumed sobbing. Derek climbed into the bed, curling his body the best he could against his Emissary, stuffing his nose against his throat. Huh…there was an underlining scent of electric sweetness to Stiles’ scent. How had he not noticed that before?

  
  


It…was it because he was now the…?

  
  


Derek clamped his eyes shut, crying against Stiles’ skin. He felt the bed shift, knowing that Cora was on the other side of their wounded Pack. Could hear her join in on the crying. Everything had happened so fast, numbed them solid, that he hadn’t realized that they hadn’t properly mourned. Hadn’t allowed themselves to fully grasp onto the situation they were in.

  
  


Their entire Pack was gone. Stiles was badly hurt. Cora was in bad shape mentally and emotionally. They had no one to take care of them. They had nowhere to live. Hunters had stolen everything from them. Derek was Alpha.

  
  


What the hell were three _kids_ going to do now?

  
  


Derek didn’t realize that he had cried himself asleep until Kira came to visit. Her mother, a nine hundred year old kitsune, was with her. They brought food with them. Cream stew. The kind with chicken and extra carrots because that's how the Hale Pack had liked it. Some rice, too, just in case. Kira’s eyes were puffy, like she had been doing the same thing Derek and the still sleeping others had. Wouldn’t be a shock. She was there with them. Had seen and smelled the flames. Had seen the almost deflated body bags. Had seen Stiles be sent flying by this odd glow that didn’t belong among fire.

  
  


“We made you some food.” Mrs. Yukimura said sadly. “Kira insisted. I think all your other friends will do the same. So...I apologize ahead of time for adding to the onslaught.”

  
  


The new Alpha nodded, still numb. Still in a daze.

  
  


“If you need anything at all…we will be happy to help. We don’t have much room, but you can stay with us if you’d like. That is, if the Council hasn't already made plans for you.”

  
  


Again, he nodded. “I’ll…I’ll talk to Stiles and Cora later about it. The Council, too. When they come again.”

  
  


“No rush. You need your rest.”

  
  


“H-H-Hayden says her sister i-i-is giving that blonde woman a h-hard time.” hiccuped Kira tearfully. “Th-they know-know she was involved. Sh-she’s been l-laughing a lot.”

  
  


The unrivaled anger simmered beneath his skin. That woman…he mentally made a note to allow Stiles to kill her if allowed. Why should she be allowed to breathe when their Pack, their _family_ , wasn’t given that luxury? It hit him all over again. This time more intense. Derek covered his face as he bawled, pitiful howls escaping. He could hear Kira crying, too. Could feel her wrap him in a tight hug and choke out her sorries.

  
  


He lost time again after that.

  
  


He didn’t remember when she left. Didn’t remember Cora and Stiles waking. Didn’t remember eating the food brought to them. Didn’t remember when Melissa McCall came to do her job. Didn’t remember Lydia and Erica dropping by with a case of soda and a tin of caramel popcorn. Didn’t remember Liam showing up with his step-dad, the only doctor really allowed to work on Stiles, with a second bed for them to use if they wanted. Didn’t remember Boyd, Mason, and Corey dropping by with better blankets and pillows. Didn’t remember Scott coming in with clothes that his mom bought. Didn’t remember Hayden and her older sister bringing them a small box with all that was left of the great Alpha Talia Hale – five claws.

  
  


He lost _days_. So many days. Moving forward in a thick haze.

  
  


He was brought back when Deaton stopped by.

  
  


Derek blinked too much, drinking back in what he had missed out on. They were in a new room, with all the things their friends had brought them. Cora was on the daunt side, circles starting to form under her eyes. Stiles was starting to look better, though his eyes were surrounded by dark rings, and he had his laptop, backpack, and documents piled up by his feet. The room had flowers, balloons, and cards scattered about. Likely from people they didn’t know saying sorry for the loss. There were also protection runes blotched about the four corners, clearly the work of the Emissary Council.

  
  


It was a shock that Derek had performed any regular activities in the time he had lost.

  
  


“Good to see you back from your nap.” Stiles greeted with his usual snark, winking at the new Alpha. “Just in time, too. Deaton here says we have a mass funeral to plan. And other not so fun shit.”

  
  


The urge to shut down all over again was almost too hard to resist. But resist he did. He was needed. He couldn’t allow himself to vacate again, leaving Stiles and Cora to do everything on their own. He may have not received as much special attention to Alpha training like Laura had…but he knew that making his Emissary and his little sister take care of things like this while he locked himself away was poor practice.

  
  


So he crawled to Stiles’ side on the bed, wrapping his fingers to the back of his neck to sap away pain while they discussed what needed to be discussed. Stiles shivered at that, leaning into Derek and loosening up the tension in his body.

  
  


“First, may I say, again, that I am truly sorry for this tragedy…” Deaton began, every inch of him covered in true sorrow. “Talia Hale was…an amazing woman. Kind, caring, compassionate, patient, open minded, loving, and a soft spoken activist in anything concerning the rights of the supernatural community. Packs, and other clusters of supernaturals, all around the world are mourning her loss. _Humans_ are mourning her loss. I can guarantee that there will be people from all over the world either traveling to witness the mass funeral of your fallen Pack, or watching any coverage on it. They are all also hopping to hear a statement from the new Alpha Hale.”

  
  


Derek swallowed, knowing full well that he was losing color in his face. Speeches were never his strongest suit. He had to fight anxiety attacks during oral presentations at school, for god’s sake! How was he supposed to speak in front of _millions_?

  
  


“How about we figure out what we want to say, and then I make the statement?” Stiles suggested, his tone a mixture of relaxation (from the pain draining) and cold professionalism that was reminiscent of how he spoke to Peter.

  
  


Deaton frowned, perturbed by the very idea. “That isn’t how it is done traditionally.”

  
  


“Fuck tradition! Not all Alphas or Packs are traditional! Miss Talia had humans running around with us as _equals_ , not tokens. The Hale Pack is _already_ different. What’s wrong with making it more so?”

  
  


“We’re doing what Stiles suggested. Unless I suddenly change my mind.” Derek finalized sternly, feeling his eyes flicker.

  
  


Whatever Stiles would throw out there, he was going to follow it. He trusted Stiles. Stiles _knew_ what he was doing. It was the Emissary’s job to be like an adviser, a second-in-command. And Stiles was, well, outstanding was too tame of a word to use, but it would do to describe how good he was at making plans and handling all things political.

  
  


Seeing that neither of them was going to budge, Deaton nodded, marking it down in a notebook he brought with him. “Understood. Now, about the funeral…I am…it brings me great sadness to say that there were a lot of bodies reduced to either nothing, ashes, or remains that are unidentifiable. Using Magic, we were able to identify who was who and place them in a proper waiting place. Do you want to bury what can be buried? Or do you want them cremated? Either way, a memorial is being made to be placed in the cemetery in honor of your fallen Pack.”

  
  


Nausea swept over Derek. The sudden memory of Hayden and her sister coming in to give them his mother’s claws slammed into him. That was all that was left of her. She had been reduced to nothing…except for five claws. A lot of his family had...

  
  


Cora’s hiccuping, quiet sobs tore him away from the thought of vomiting. He perked his head up, searching for her. She wasn’t too far. Sitting in the second bed they were given. He held a hand out to her, offering to give her whatever comfort he could possibly perform. She didn’t say anything, just hurried over and crawled into the laps of her new Alpha and her Emissary. Stiles ran his fingers through her hair, while Derek rubbed the thumb of his free hand across her arm. Deaton appeared apologetic for that. Smelled like it, too. It wasn’t his fault, but Derek understood why the Head Emissary would feel that way.

  
  


“I’m sorry…” Deaton said with a weak smile. “But…we do have to talk about this.”

  
  


“We know.” Stiles replied, voice still even. “Just…give us a minute.”

  
  


Deaton nodded, taking a step away to give them room to breathe. He was still too close in Derek’s mind, but he appreciated that the man at least respected them to a point.

  
  


“Derek…what do you want to do?” questioned Stiles in a broken voice, the first since Derek returned from the mind lock.

  
  


He shrugged, uncertain. If there was nothing to be buried…why should they bother?

  
  


Wait…

  
  


“Do you know if there was anything the fire didn’t destroy? Like…personal items?”

  
  


Deaton hummed, nodding. “Yes. They have been organized to whom they belonged to in the storage unit the police bought for you.”

  
  


“Okay. Um...can…can we bury one of those items with the bodies? Or in place of the bodies? That way…that way we can feel that…that at least they are properly at rest?”

  
  


The Head Emissary smiled, nodding once more. “Of course. I sincerely believe that it will be a perfect way to put them to rest. There wasn’t much left, but when you’re up for it, I will personally take you to the storage unit and we can gather what you want to bury.”

  
  


“Thank you. But…I’d rather have Ms. McCall drive us there.”

  
  


He had no idea why he said that or what made him think that Scott’s mom would have the time to drive them over to a storage unit. Whatever the reason, he just knew that he wanted Melissa McCall, someone he had grown to think was a second mother to him over the few months of actually getting to know her, her son, and Isaac (whom she had taken in when he fled from his abusive home). And he knew that he could trust her. Feel safe with her.

  
  


“Scott would probably come help us. Isaac, too.” noted Stiles. “Hell…I bet everyone would tag along if they could. Except Erica. Her mom might not want her to lift too much. I’m surprised she has never locked Erica in a bubble with how much she fusses over the seizures.”

  
  


“Maybe you could give her the bite?” mused Deaton, obviously thinking about rebuilding the Pack.

  
  


“No.”

  
  


The strong, sharp, almost vicious response from Stiles made the room tremble. Made Cora whine. Made Derek bewildered. Wasn’t it Stiles that had suggested his mom should bite Erica? Bite Scott, too. Get rid of his worsening asthma.

  
  


“We aren’t rebuilding the Pack just yet. Not officially.” the young Emissary explained sternly. “Doing so right after the mass loss would not only make us look weak, but desperate. We’ll wait until we have things situated. _Then_ we’ll officially start creating betas. Start officially making our friends part of the Pack. They’re already like a second Pack, anyways. We’ll also need to speak with their families for consent of being merged into the Pack or about receiving the bite since they are all underage.”

  
  


And this was why Stiles was Emissary. He thought about these things.

  
  


Derek nuzzled his face into his hair, rumbling in approval. Stiles bopped his chin the best he could against the Alpha, grumbling about how the stupid Magic barrier made his arm break and how inconvenient it was. So very Stiles. Got a teary giggle from Cora.

  
  


“If that is what you want, then I’ll skip over that topic of discussion.” Deaton said calmly. “I would like to continue on the topic of the funeral. Do you want it to be traditional or non-traditional?”

  
  


“Traditional.” the trio answered in unison.

  
  


It was obvious. Their mother, their Pack, wanted a traditional Pack funeral when they died. That’s what they would have. Deaton hummed again, jotting it down in his notebook.

  
  


“All right. Now…do you wish to do the Alpha Ceremony before or after the funeral? It needs to be done soon. I cannot tell you how many rival Packs the Council has had to fight off since the fire.”

  
  


Oh. Right. They still had to do that. Customs and what not.

  
  


But…hearing that Packs have been already trying to steal the Hale land from them, not even waiting until the Pack was buried…

  
  


Derek’s being cracked and rippled as it shifted partially. He growled viciously and coiled in an aggressive manner. He could feel Cora do the same, something he could do now because of his new status. Stiles had the underlining scent of electricity dancing beneath the skin and he stiffened at the shifts of his Pack mates. Unlike them, however, he kept his cool.

  
  


“We will do it before the funeral. Once my ass is discharged, we will do it. And we will have it filmed and distributed everywhere. So that if _any_ Pack thinks it is a good idea to claim what isn’t theirs…then they’ll know that they will be in for hell. We are small, we are broken, but this land is _ours_. And we, _I_ , won’t let anybody take more from us. The minute they even try, I will drag them into The Void and make them regret being born.”

  
  


In agreement, Derek growled a second time, moving his body closer against his Emissary’s. They may be predators and they didn’t need to be killers, but he would allow Stiles to go that far. Because anyone that wanted to hurt them more deserved it. They didn’t even have to die. Stiles could ruin their minds and Derek would be fine with it. They deserved it. They deserved it. They _deserved_ it.

  
  


“Your therapists and grief counselors won’t agree with that…but I won’t tell a soul.” Deaton shrugged nonchalantly. “And yes. You can’t get out of it. It’s unfortunately the law. To prevent you from going out to seek revenge.”

  
  


“We don’t want revenge! We want justice!” Stiles spat.

  
  


“People won’t see it that way. But, like I said, I won’t tell anyone your thought process. And speaking of…that woman in custody…a man by the name of Gerard Argent recently attempted to bail her out. Said she was his daughter, Kate. Hearing that, Chris Argent and myself were called immediately. She is still in there. Her father has been imprisoned as well. Mr. Argent has been keeping an eye on both of them, along with fellow Hunters that do not agree with their views. Apparently, Kate and her father are the most extreme Hunters you can find. There is a possibly long trail of death following them. Police all across the country are gathering evidence of more fires like yours to see if maybe they were involved. Because, as you may know, the police think that Kate, and now her father Gerard, are involved in the death of your Pack.”

  
  


_Kate_.

  
  


_Kate Argent_.

  
  


The name pushed chills through Derek’s blood.

  
  


He knew Chris Argent. He was the Hunter than moved in not long after the Peter incident. The man was frighteningly cool and collected, but he seemed nice enough. He met with their Pack to announce the presence of himself and his daughter Allison, who went to school with him and seemed friendly with Lydia and Stiles. Supposedly, he joined the former Alpha in meetings concerning supernatural rights, always fighting alongside her with a determination that rivaled a wolf’s.

  
  


That didn’t mean that Derek trusted the guy and his daughter.

  
  


But that also didn’t mean that he hated them either. Because it seemed that the Hunter didn’t agree with the killings of supernaturals without consequences.

  
  


To hear that the mystery woman, Kate, was related to Chris and Allison Argent just…

  
  


“We will deal with her after the funeral.” Stiles stated darkly. “She will be easier to force answers out of. Younger. Not so many years of hateful thinking. Also not as set in the ways of the original Hunters.”

  
  


“It almost sounds like you’re planning on doing something you’re not supposed to do, Emissary Stilinski.”

  
  


“No one at the station will tell. My father used to be the sheriff, if you remember, Deaton. They would destroy every inch of evidence in sight and play stupid.”

  
  


“I do remember. But you shouldn’t use that fact far too much. Absolute power -”

  
  


“Isn’t there anything else you need to talk about?”

  
  


No one mentioned it. Either they were too scared or didn’t want to bother with it. But it was clear that it was well noticed the feelings about that woman. Stiles’ dagger-like glare flashed a color it had never flashed before. _Red_. Derek’s new color.

  
  


It had to be because Stiles was tied to Derek. There was…no other reason.

  
  


Either way…seeing it made the situation all the more real and all the more sobering.

  
  


The Head Emissary stayed for another several hours, discussing their planned housing for when Stiles was released from the hospital, the mandatory sessions with a therapist and a grief counselor, the date of which they were to speak with an attorney about the Hale Pack finances that would be left to them, and more funeral details.

  
  


There was…a lot of bickering about the funeral details.

  
  


In the usual tradition, it was the new Alpha and the Emissary in the front of the line of the pallbearers of a deceased Alpha. Then it was whoever else they wanted to help carry the casket, at least two of them having to be female. The other caskets, if any, would be floating behind the Alpha casket, the Magic being performed by Emissaries either picked by the Emissary Council or Emissaries from Packs paying respects. At the very end of the procession would be members of the Pack. Cora was content with that as long as Hayden and Mason would be there with her. Which, fine. That wasn’t the cause of the bickering.

  
  


The cause was the fact that Deaton thought that Stiles shouldn’t be up there with Derek carrying Talia.

  
  


“I am going to be beside him carrying Miss Talia! I have a good fucking shoulder! I’m doing it!”

  
  


“The strain that would be placed on your recovering body -”

  
  


“The damn casket will be _empty_! Because the bastards _incinerated_ her! And whatever we put in there won’t weigh as much as a body! I’m fucking doing it!”

  
  


It went on and on in a never ending match of a calm telling, and an impatient yelling. It was giving Derek a headache. It was making Cora sniffle.

  
  


So, after much time, Derek finally ended the debate.

  
  


“My Emissary _will_ carry the casket with me and the four others we choose. End of discussion.”

  
  


And that was the end of it. Deaton left, once again giving his condolences. Afterwards, the remnants of the Hales broke down into hysterical sobs. Apparently, all three of them were holding it in the entire time, now feeling as if it was proper to wail over what was ripped away from them. They cried themselves to sleep.

  
  


They only awakened when Melissa McCall dropped in to talk about releasing Stiles in three days.

  
  


Since he wasn’t burned by the real flames, he was healing quicker than anticipated and he would have no scarring. Of course his arm would take time, but he could live with a cast and sling once discharged. Stiles was cheery about the whole thing, joking about and laughing. How he was able to do that was beyond Derek, especially because he could smell the undeniable scent of salt.

  
  


In fact…whenever anyone came to visit them, Stiles was his usual self. With biting words and witty sarcasm. But the second it was just him with Cora and Derek, he was a cross between inconsolable…and…something... _dark_. It should have bothered Derek more. It certainly made Cora uncomfortable and iffy about being around the Emissary. But for Derek…he…he was okay with it. As if it was normal to see this other side of Stiles. Maybe it was because he had seen Stiles as the terrifying Magic Holder that he was.

  
  


Or maybe it was because Derek held the same darkness tucked deep away inside...

  
  


Once Stiles was discharged, Boyd and his grandmother swooped in to take them to their new living arrangements. Boyd’s grandma was chipper and sweet, but everyone could tell she was trying to tiptoe around the subject of the mass funeral coming up. She certainly _didn’t_ tiptoe around how she felt about the building the Council picked out for the Hale trio to live in.

  
  


It was an old building over in the industry district. Vacant. Looked like it hadn’t truly been lived in. There were splats of rather offensive graffiti in some areas, which definitely ruffled up Ms. Boyd’s feathers enough to get a shared snicker between the young folk. They reached the loft they would be staying in, which resided on the very top floor, and it was a far cry from what the rest of the place appeared. It was furnished, painted, appliance fulled, and looked pretty homely. Derek would have to reluctantly thank the Emissary Council for this later. Boyd helped them unpack what they had while his grandma grumbled about how this place wasn’t so bad once she found food and dishes in the kitchen.

  
  


The Boyds stayed a while, giving them familial company that was honestly refreshing. After their departure, the three of them sat on the squishy couch given to them, staring blankly at the television screen. Derek didn’t know what Cora had put on. Just knew there was noise coming from it. They passed out right where they sat, waking the next afternoon with each other slouching on someone's shoulder.

  
  


Their friends all invaded minutes after they woke, carrying food and having been driven covertly over by Lydia.

  
  


“If we were pulled over, I would tell them the truth and say that we were coming to be with you. They would’ve let us go without a warning” she clicked haughtily after being scolded by Stiles for their reckless trip.

  
  


Their friends stayed with them for the rest of the day, chatting it up about what was to come. Boyd, Isaac, Lydia, and Kira all accepted the invite to assist in carrying the late Alpha’s casket. Mason and Hayden didn’t even hesitate to say yes when asked if they would walk hand-in-hand with Cora. It was Erica who suggested that the rest of them walked behind Cora, Hayden, and Mason. Because, as Derek’s mother always told the Pack, friends were like extended Pack. Derek teared up, unable to say anything. Stiles had to be his words. And his answer was a definite yes to Erica’s idea.

  
  


The girls, including Cora, broke off into their own group. They discussed preparations for the announcement of the Alpha Ceremony and the funeral. The boys gathered up on the downstairs bed (it was very studio apartment set up, with the exception of the stairs that led up to another section of the loft) to figure out what to say for the statement the people were expecting to hear. Derek had mulled it over for some time, eventually changing his mind and said he would do it. Stiles kept insisting he would make it as planned, he was good at them after all, it was no big deal. But Derek shook his head, insisting back that no, he would do it instead.

  
  


“Are you sure, big guy? I know you have anxiety speaking in front of an audience.”

  
  


Derek nodded with conviction, expression fixated into a glower. “I don’t want to look weak. I’ll say it.”

  
  


His Emissary nodded, unconsciously squeezing his hand. “All right. I’ll be right by your side, just so you know.”

  
  


“ _We_ will be right by your side.” corrected Boyd.

  
  


“ _All_ of us!” Erica shouted from across the room.

  
  


That night, all eleven of them crowded into the downstairs bed. It was a miracle that the bed held them. It was an even _bigger_ miracle that no one had bumped into Stiles’ bad arm, either.

  
  


In the morning, Stiles and Boyd made breakfast, blaring cheesy music for some weird reason. Probably to lift the mood. And it did. The whole loft erupted into song. Poorly sung songs, but still songs all the same.

  
  


The lightness didn’t last long, however.

  
  


A few members from the Emissary Council arrived uninvited to ask when the Alpha Ceremony was happening, stating how it had to happen soon because other Packs were trying to swipe up their territory. The very statements enraged the young Alpha. His claws broke the plate in clean two – the sound echoing violently. He knew his fangs were protruding, the red flaring. He just...couldn’t control it. Why...why couldn't they just have a moment of peace for one minute?!

  
  


“Two days.” Cora spoke up, her voice harsh and bitter as she shoved the Council members out. “It will be in two days. Thanks for killing the mood.”

  
  


After that...all their time was focused on preparations.

  
  


As expected, Scott and Isaac joined them when they went to the storage unit, with Scott's mom being the driver. They were somber with the trio, only glancing with sympathy instead of voicing it. Melissa also accompanied the trio for the funeral home visit, taking them out for ice cream afterwards.

  
  


Kira assisted in keeping Cora occupied as Derek and Stiles practiced what was to be done at the ceremony. The rest of their friends acted as the audience for the speech for the funeral. Which Derek was starting to have second thoughts in giving. Lydia designed everything for the Alpha Ceremony and the funeral, shoving them at the members of the Emissary Council that came to pester them again and demanded that it would need to be mass produced quickly as hell.

  
  


Then, as if everything had happened all in one day, it was the day of the Alpha Ceremony.

  
  


Derek had barely slept the night before – staring at the ceiling most of the night. Fortunately, it looked as if Stiles had suffered through the same restlessness. Cora as well.

  
  


The three of them poked at their breakfast, listening to the coverage on the Ceremony on the TV. Thank the goddess that all the news anchors were being respectful. They even clapped backed at any individual that bad mouthed the situation! Allison Argent was surprisingly on there at one point, making a teary statement about how furious she was that Hunters had done this to a family that was known for being so peaceful and so kind. She also added that she would personally fight to have laws passed that would help protect the supernatural community better.

  
  


“Why should they live in fear of things like this when they are just like everyone else?!” she hissed. “It’s ridiculous that we allow them to live beside us, but we don’t think about how unprotected they are from people like Hunters gone rogue! Don't they deserve peace of mind and feelings of safety like everyone else?! The answer is yes. Just because they are different doesn’t mean they are monsters or something to be feared. And that goes for more than just the supernatural communities.”

  
  


Stiles chuckled, a wry grin crossing his lips. “I knew I liked her.”

  
  


“She’s a Hunter.” Cora scoffed. “I won’t be trusting her any time soon.”

  
  


The rest of breakfast was silent. The only words they spoke were Cora telling the boys that she was going to use the upstairs bathroom to get ready, and Stiles telling Derek to go shower first since he was going to wait for Emissary Morrell to bring by the traditional clothing they had to wear.

  
  


Being left unsupervised gave Derek the chance to stand in the shower, blankly focused on a tile. Unmoving. Absent. Shaking like a leaf. Losing time.

  
  


“Hey…you’re gonna use up all the hot water.”

  
  


He jolted, startled to hear Stiles’ voice. Looking behind him, he saw Stiles’ head poking in with a faint smile. The grin faded and a soft ‘aw crap’ left. Something about Derek must’ve worried him, because seconds after Stiles was climbing into the shower. Unclothed and doing all he could to not get his cast wet.

  
  


“Lemme help ya, Der.”

  
  


Without a fight, Derek allowed the Magic Holder to clean him. It was slow, cautious, but mindful and tender. The action pumped Derek with too many emotions. Emotions he forgot how to feel. He crumbled and plastered himself against Stiles’ chest, this unnatural wail spewing out. Stiles sniffed, giving the wolf the strongest one arm embrace he could possibly give. They both stood in the shower, sobbing, until the water turned ice cold. Derek had to keep rubbing Stiles’ freezing limbs so that they could finish cleaning up.

  
  


Cora was still upstairs when they walked out in towels, likely to give them space to get ready. Or to collect herself since Derek could hear her breathing in a way that could only be produced after crying profusely. Again, Stiles helped Derek with simple tasks. Still in a towel. Not even bothering to slip on boxers until Derek was clothed. Which the Alpha was thankful for in the end. _Very_ thankful.

  
  


Lying on the bed, his traditional Alpha Ceremony clothes didn’t look all that difficult to put on. He just had black pants and leather boots. The shirt was probably going to be a slight inconvenience. It too was black but was speckled with hardly visible garnet designs of the Ancient Wolf Tongue, had a V-neck with a leather flap collar and leather threading around the neckline, and had more of those leather threading that went from under the elbow to where the hands would be swallowed.

  
  


And, well, he was right about the shirt being a pain. Cora had to be eventually called down to help get all the leather threaded through the proper golden holes punched into the fabric. But the pants, oh the pants! They were deceptively made of leather and decided they would rather stick around Derek’s thighs for a good few minutes instead of just going right on. Then they got stuck around his hips. Then his butt. And getting it fastened was a living nightmare! Stiles had to Magic them into something that was a soft material, but still appeared to be made of leather, in the end. Neither of them had ever heard Cora swear so much in their lives. The boots were an easy slip on, thank the goddess.

  
  


All three of them had to sit for a moment…before turning to Stiles’ clothing with absolute dread.

  
  


The pants were easy enough. They were just a pair of deep, blood red skinny jeans that tricked the eye to think they were leather, like the majority of Derek’s clothing. The boots were obviously easy as well. They were the exact same as Derek’s, with the exception of glowing, electric blue runes prancing around every inch. The diadem was slightly more difficult – the pure silver circular head piece crafted in whimsical knots and dotted with different variations of moonstones taking every opportunity to stab Stiles’ head. Same with the white gold clasps that took up half of his ear, and definitely pinched Stiles more than he cared for.

  
  


But the shirt…

  
  


Good hell, the _shirt_!

  
  


Derek knew this was traditional ware for a Magic Holder that was an Emissary…but…god, could they have not made _some_ adjustments to help out?! Who thought that leaving both long sleeves on for someone with a broken arm to wear was a good idea?! It was maddening trying to slip the left sleeve over the cast! Poor Stiles was yowling with each accidental bump against his slow healing part.

  
  


The one good thing about the shirt was the only extra ornament on the sleeve was the small, intricate piece of leather with even smaller, silver trivets where the wrists would fall. Nothing extra had to be done. Not like Derek's hellish shirt.

  
  


Once the nightmare was over, both Derek and Cora had the time to sit back, breathe, and look over Stiles. Just to make sure they had done everything correctly so there was minimal fussing at the Ceremony by picky Council members. It all was…fairly form fitting, revealing that, despite what Stiles proclaimed, he was rather lean. And there was something else about the shirt…Derek noticed now the thick stripe of black on the right side that had the same leather threads his own shirt had (fortunately these were pre-tied) in two spots – up at the collar and at the bottom. The two extra threads hanging down from yet another thick black stripe around the neck, revealing the hood and a larger form of the sleeve ornament that it bled into. The two black, snap button pockets right under the shoulders.

 

And…and the way it was _more_ form fitting than the pants.

  
  


Stiles looked incredibly regal, powerful…and _attractive_.

  
  


Derek said so as he assisted in getting the sling back on, ears burning. The Emissary flushed, ducking his head into Derek’s shoulder and mumbling a thanks.

  
  


“I’m so glad that I just have to wear this dress Hayden’s letting me borrow. I don’t think I would live having to squeeze into a corset.” teased Cora bluntly.

  
  


“I will honestly trade you right now.” Stiles pouted. “I am comfortable enough in my own masculinity that wearing a dress would be a blessing. And more comfortable. I’m gonna have to resist picking at my ass from the amount of wedgies I’m gonna get with these damned pants.”

  
  


“None of us needed to know that, Stiles.”

  
  


“You look pretty, by the way. Gold is definitely your color.”

  
  


Cora rolled her eyes, blushing out of embarrassment. “Shut up.”

  
  


“By the way...how did you talk the Council out of letting you wear traditional crap?”

  
  


“Made the argument that I'm not the one being announced Alpha. Also that I'm not the Emissary. _Also_ that I would sooner tear the traditional dress and make it into a flag than wear it.”

  
  


“And you didn't think to help us get out of this stupid shit because...?”

  
  


“You were the ones that said they wanted to be traditional. Not my fault you chose stupidly.”

  
  


Stiles pondered that over, slowly coming to a realization how right she was. “Well...at least I look hot. But at what cost? What. Cost.”

  
  


The Emissary lamented over that topic for a few more minutes before dropping it, and changing it to thoughts about what food would be at the After Party. Because of course he would.

  
  


It felt like an eternity before their ride came. More members of the Emissary Council rode with them in the limo that Deaton insisted having. They talked their ears off about proper etiquette being crucial during the Ceremony. They must’ve been new, because they foolishly dared to argue with Stiles at every turn. They even dared to tell him that he shouldn’t wear the sling! That was when the wolves stepped in, growling threateningly and wrapping protective arms around their Pack member.

  
  


The rest of the ride fell into tense quiet afterwards.

  
  


As they approached closer to the sacred grounds in the woods where the Alpha Ceremony would be performed, the deafening cheers of all that were attending was overwhelming. Derek felt ready to lose his breakfast as the noise. More so when the makers of the noise were seen.

  
  


“Holy shit…Deaton wasn’t kidding about people from all over coming. I think I see the Xolani Pack from the Zulu nation.” Stiles breathed.

  
  


The very thought of people from all over the world being here for the Alpha Ceremony, and then turning around to attend the funeral and hear him speak in a few days, caused Derek to black out. He didn’t know for how long. Only knew that when he came to, all eyes were on him worriedly, parked under banners with the Triskele and Vegvísir rune (Stiles’ favorite) design their friends slaved over. Stiles’ hand was tentatively on his shoulder, eyes surveying him over.

  
  


“I…I need a minute…” Derek finally gasped out, rolling up into a ball on the floor of the limo.

  
  


Reluctantly, he was left alone in the car to give him space.

  
  


Well, almost left alone.

  
  


Stiles sat beside him, coaching him through his attack with the most patience ever to exist. His voice was smooth, soft, eerily paternal. His removed his touch. Didn’t bring it back until the wolf had his breathing regulated. But when it came…a clarity came with it.

  
  


Next to Cora, Stiles was the most important person in his life. His closest ally. Someone who he could go to with anything. Someone who ferociously cared for him the same way his own blood did and had.

  
  


He would sell his soul to keep Stiles alive.

  
  


“You okay, Derek?” whispered the other male gently, brushing back hair.

  
  


With a tight swallow, Derek nodded. From the corner of his eye, he could see a caring smile and a welcomed hand.

  
  


“C'mon then. We have to officially announce you as Alpha.”

  
  


Derek held onto Stiles’ hand for dear life as they exited the vehicle. His legs felt like jelly and he was suddenly overcame with a chill. His legs were ready to buckle beneath him. His breathing was getting ragged. Then, with a squeeze from the hand of his Pack, his best friend, soothing calm coursed through his veins. He exhaled deeply, blindly staggering forward with the Magic Holder. When they had to be separated, he whined in protest and wouldn’t let go.

  
  


“You’ll see me soon.” assured Stiles with a chuckle. “Hone on my scent till then.”

  
  


And he did.

  
  


The entire time he stood in the tent he was led to, the entire time he was fussed over for the final touches…he kept his nose focused on Stiles’ scent. It almost rendered him listless, only able to partially catch what was being said to him.

  
  


Then…it was time.

  
  


Holding his head high, inhaling the singular scent as life support, Derek trekked out of the tent and towards the stump of the ancient Nemeton. Stiles was already there, hood hanging loosely on the back of his head, ice blue dots going from the forehead all the way to the middle of the cheeks, ice white eyeliner around the entirety of his eyes, and three black lines tracing down from under the lips and under the fabric of the shirt. If he hadn’t looked regal and powerful before…he certainly did now. Like a true Magic Holder of the Old World.

  
  


The very sight of his best friend appearing like this sent shivers down Derek’s spine.

  
  


He climbed onto the stump, standing in front of Stiles. He swallowed, keeping his posture as straight as possible. If they didn’t do this completely correct…the watching world would not accept him as the new Alpha Hale. Would not respect him. It was an insane amount of pressure for someone who only had a learner’s permit and was months away from turning sixteen.

  
  


“We are gathered here today to transfer the rites of Alpha prowess to the one who inherited the red glow.” boomed Deaton’s voice from somewhere unknown. “Please be respectful and speak no tongues until the Emissary has instructed so.”

  
  


Derek swallowed again, closing his eyes like he had in practice. He kept as still as he could while Stiles drew on his forehead the Triskele, the Hale Pack symbol, with bleeding ink. He breathed shallowly once the Emissary’s hand cupped the side of his head, bringing it in closer and connecting their foreheads. The blurred, breathy incantations seeped through his bones, sending sparks of floaty euphoria to the very core of his wolf.

  
  


“Open thy eyes, wolf.”

  
  


He obeyed his friend, opening them slowly and burning bright. His red could be reflected in the glow of Stiles’ own red. They both inhaled the Magic – both exhaled the wisps of shimmering colors. With a nod, Stiles stepped back, holding himself with pride. Derek knelt before him on both knees, half shifting on the way down. He held his clawed hands palms up and bowed his head in reverence, rumbling a ground vibrating purr. Above him, Stiles was waving his one good arm in a liquid motion, his Spark showing itself in a manner that required awe, not fear.

  
  


“Derek Samuel Hale, third child, second son of Talia Na'omi Hale…you have been given the gift and burden the glow of red brings. You have inherited the glow from your mother, who inherited it from her mother. You inherited the mighty name of Hale, a name that brings ranges of emotions, thoughts, and power with it. It will be a road of trials, of errors, of sleepless nights, of trusting those you would normally fear, of accepting the role as the leader of your Pack. At times, you will feel alone in your responsibilities. At times, you feel the wickedness power holds. I pray that during those times, you will turn to your Pack for guidance, for there is no shame in admitting moments of weakness. Do you accept all of this? Do you accept the title of Alpha?”

  
  


Keeping his head bowed, Derek answered with conviction, “I, Derek Samuel Hale, third child, second son of Talia Na'omi Hale, accept all of this. Accept the title of Alpha. And I solemnly swear to uphold integrity, peace, understanding, and to never abuse this power I have inherited from my mother, my Alpha.”

  
  


“Then I, Magic Holder Mieczysław Genim Stilinski, Emissary to your Pack, beseech thee to rise, and howl. Let the whole world know you are no longer beta…but that you are now _Alpha_ Hale.”

  
  


Head remaining bowed and hands renaming palms held up, Derek rose to his feet. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back and unleashing a howl heard around the world. Cora joined in the howl, as customary to tradition. The other Packs mewled weakly, a symbol of respect and acceptance. All other supernaturals in attendance chanted the words, “Goddess bless this Pack. Goddess bless this Alpha.” Any humans there hummed along to the chant. Emissaries echoed the chant, but in the language the Druids once spoke.

  
  


Finishing the howl, Derek allowed Stiles to turn him to face the crowd, no longer shifted but eyes still showing his status. A burst of sparkling dust, reminiscent of Fae Dust, fell all around Alpha and Emissary, singing praises to them. Stiles raised his arm, hand clutched in a fist, and shot out a sharp, electrical charge into the air.

  
  


“Let it be known that on this day, the Hale line still stands! That the title of Alpha still rings true! And that these lands belong to the Hales!”

  
  


The crowd screeched back Stiles’ words with heated passion. It was a sea of support. A sea power.

  
  


It would forever happily haunt Derek’s thoughts for years to come.

  
  


**~+~**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out the event!
> 
> https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we have come to the end of Part One. Hope you have enjoyed, and thank you so very much for reading! 
> 
> Part Two will either come out later this year or next year. So hold your breath for the conclusion of the prequel that led to the events in Even The Sun Can Grow Dark! It will be a bit of a doozy.

Waking up on the day of the funeral was…

  


Surreal.

  


Yes, there had been plenty of time to let it all sink in. The biggest sinking in should’ve come with the Alpha Ceremony he performed literally three days ago. However, when Stiles woke up, bed full with the two wolves on his sides…he was hit with the reality that they were gone. Everyone was _gone_. He had lost his family.

  


_Again_.

  


Unable to keep it in a tight ball within, he slapped his hand over his mouth to hopefully muffle his pained sobs.

  


It didn’t.

  


Derek’s nose was instantly in his neck, whimpering in protest. Cora started sniffling before gripping at his shirt and tugging. It didn’t take long before all three of them became a mess of watery salt and limbs – desperate to touch and solidify that they were all still there. Seemed to be their routine now. Would be for some time, probably.

  


At least this time...Stiles was _allowed_ to mourn the loss of people he loved.

  


“W-w-we need…n-nee-need to g-g-ge-ge-get-get r-read-ready.” hitched Cora after about twenty minutes of lying there and crying.

  


Derek and Stiles grumbled their agreements, sounding just as hoarse as she did. They split up to get ready, not up to having breakfast. Stiles shooed the wolves off, insisting he would shower last.

  


That only lasted for barely a minute before Derek came out of the downstairs bathroom, just in a towel, sopping wet, and dragged Stiles into the shower with him. He washed him, reversing their roles from the last shower they shared, and huffed as Stiles kept repeating about how he failed them. Failed the Pack.

  


“Shut up.” grunted Derek roughly.

  


“But -”

  


“You did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong. Cora did nothing wrong.”

  


“Derek -”

  


“No! It wasn’t your fault!”

  


The walls quivered in shock. Stiles stood there, silenced and conflicted. Because it _was_ his fault. If he hadn’t failed in his Emissary duties, if he had just told Miss Talia about the woman that tried to assault her son, if he had just…

  


Hands cupped around his face, startling him to the point that he flashed his eyes in warning. He eased up as he felt Derek lean in and drain the discomfort in his arm. He felt lucid and complacent. Safe. Like he always had with the Hales. But this was different. More intense. Solidified his promise to die in place of his Pack if it would protect them. Would run into flames for them.

  


Especially Derek…

  


“We don’t blame you for anything.” Derek said quietly, as if he was terrified to raise his voice again. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  


“You didn’t do anything wrong, either.”

  


The Alpha tensed, before chuckling and bopping the Emissary’s nose with soap. “I know.”

  


The rest of the shower was uneventful. So was the rest of getting ready

  


For the most part.

  


Cora was having a harder than hell time getting into the dress she couldn't talk her way out of this time around. It was a traditional, Medieval looking black gown with sheered long sleeves of deep silver, a silver belt in the style of a corset (thank god it wasn’t that because then she really would've torn it to shreds), a violet crescent moon and two star charms dangling down from the belt, and red trimming around the neck.

  


She mewled and howled and snarled the entire time. Fought a little until Derek had to use his Alphaness to stop her. But she started up again when it game to the shoes. They were fancy boots. Like…a _million dollars_ fancy. And they looked uncomfortable. So uncomfortable. Which Cora didn’t fail to hiss and whine about the entire time Stiles struggled to slip them on.

  


“Why is _this_ the traditional footwear?! Who is _this_ evil?!” she screeched, glaring at her brother who was doing his best to hold her legs still so she wouldn’t kick their Emissary.

  


“I promise, the next time we do anything traditional, we will forgo the shoes.” Stiles grunted. “But if you kick me in the face…”

  


The boys had the same clothes to wear from the Alpha Ceremony for the funeral. Just in versions of black, violet, and red instead. It was still just as impossible to put on the second time around. In fact, it was safe to wager that it was probably _worse_ the second time around. Mainly because the shirts were even _tighter_ now.

  


“Thank god the pants aren’t so tight.” the Emissary sighed. “I don’t need to lose my balls from loss of blood. I plan on having kids one day. _Maybe_.”

  


When their friends arrived, it was clear that the Emissary Council wanted all involved to wear the traditional clothing. Thankfully, Kira, Lydia, and Hayden fought tooth and nail to wear something different. Kira and Lydia wore the same clothing as Stiles, only designed to fit their figures much better than Stiles’. Hayden joined Boyd, Mason, and Isaac in wearing the same clothing as Derek, except theirs had the belt and charms that Cora’s dress had.

  


Needless to say Cora and Stiles were just a tad bitter.

  


Everyone else, who were a last minute addition, were wearing their best blacks, reds, and violets in order to be respectful to the tradition. They weren’t bummed out about not matching anyone else. They were _definitely_ more comfortable in their own clothes rather than being forced into something else.

  


“If it helps any…you guys look awesome.” Scott said with a nervous smile, always the one to find silver linings in everything.

  


“I want to rip throats out.” Cora growled, eyes glowing.

  


“Maybe we should take off those boots…” suggested Lydia simply.

  


“No way! You know how long it took me to get those on her!? With _one hand_?! _No_! If I suffer in _this_ outfit, she suffers in _those_ boots!”

  


Everyone rolled their eyes at Stiles’ dramatic reply. They rolled more eyes as they slid into the limo that, once again, Deaton insisted on having. And at the members of the Emissary Council that came to escort the Pack when they lost their shit over the amount of people.

  


“They’re honorary Pack.” Derek snapped. “They ride with us.”

  


“They also don’t have any other rides.” Isaac mentioned shyly.

  


It was a tight fit, but they managed. All the while enjoying torturing the Emissary Council members with poor renditions of the musical Rent. They certainly appeared uncomfortable when the group started bawling as they tried to sing ‘Seasons Of Love’.

  


Most of their friends may have only dropped into their life after Peter and during lacrosse…but they loved the late Hales just as much as the surviving ones. They were mourning just as hard. Hurt just as much.

  


Upon arrival to the cemetery, there was a huge crowd. Most of it consisted of supporters. People wailing their sorrow with the trio.

  


The other bit, only a small portion, were protesters. The Anti-Supernatural Clan. A horrid group that was as infamous as the Westboro Baptists.

  


_Of course_ there would be some of those assholes here. Today of all days.

  


If it were any other state or city, there would be more of them. They would be louder and aggressive.

  


However, this was Beacon Hills. A majority of its populace was either supernatural, supernatural supporters, or hybrids. There was a reason why it was the most progressive place in the states. Canada, Egypt, Japan, Scotland, and India were the only rivals they had in the progressive movements to make the supernatural community equal to their human brothers and sisters. The rest of America and other countries were starting to follow their example of love and acceptance and peace. Slowly. Too slow. But at least it was following.

  


Groups like The Anti-Supernatural Clan and Hunters still flying by on prejudice and hate were starting to dwindle. Not fast enough, though. And seeing the protesters there with their stupid picket signs of slander and intolerance, showing that the world away from Beacon Hills was unfeeling and cold…

  


“Why…why are _they_ here?!” roared Cora, having to be held back in the limo by Mason.

  


Derek stiffened, the red bleeding in. He curled his hands into fists, trickles of blood slipping out.

  


This…this was not good. If either of them snapped at those bastards…it would damage the Hale Pack image. Would make people on the fence about supernatural rights topple over to the side wanting to pass laws that would force supernaturals to wear tags that said what ‘breed’ they were. He couldn’t have them lose it. Not today. Not in public.

  


He reached over, grabbing both Derek’s and Cora’s hand rather roughly. Both wolves gave him bewildered stares, waiting for him to answer for his actions. They didn’t have to wait long.

  


“Keep it under control.” he hissed lowly. “Yes, they are assholes. Yes, they should be hung upside down by their toes with chains. But we _can’t_ act in anyway aggressive or upset at them. We do that… _we_ get fucked over. They will do everything to provoke us so we can lash out and ' _prove_ ’ that we are all monsters. We aren’t the monsters. People like them, who can’t even begin to fathom what love is, what sympathy is, the idea that we feel everything they can feel, are the _monsters_. And they _are not_ ruining the memory of our family. They can fuck themselves over on a cactus drenched in wolfsbane before we give them what they want.”

  


The limo went silent – all bodies gaping in awe at the speech. Derek dipped his head, hiding the pink rising in his cheeks and the sheepish grin.

  


“Maybe I should have you make the speech we wrote instead.” he mumbled…almost proudly.

  


Stiles shook his head, exhaling with relief at seeing the wolves calmed. “No way. You get to say those words, buddy. You insisted.”

  


Officers swarmed the limo, escorting everyone towards the cemetery through the crowd. A group of human ones pushed back the protesters, spitting venomous sentences and standing up for their supernatural pals.  
  


It was highly overwhelming.

  


News stations tried to break through the barricade of escorting officers, spewing out questions that none of the trio wanted to answer. Thank the goddess for people like Erica, Scott, Kira, Lydia, Hayden, and Isaac. They snapped at the anchors, furious that they had no tact. Liam, sweet and naive little Liam, even got in a few words that made Stiles oh so proud.

  


The group was taken down a hill towards a small structure once they were in the heart of the cemetery. All noise was canceled out now, a cloak of Magic shielding them. The entire Emissary Council was there, along with Alpha Satomi, Miss Talia’s close friend since childhood. She had called the night before, asking if she could be the Alpha Spirit for her friend.

  


It was rare for that to happen.

  


The Alpha Spirit was basically an Alpha who offered to be painted in the Prayer Of Lycan and the mark of the dead Alpha’s Pack. It was a symbol of deep respect and that the soul of the Alpha lived on even in death. It was a practice that was done upon the death of every Alpha that had fallen out of the tradition as time passed.

  


Derek didn’t hesitate to allow her to be there to represent the soul of his mother.

  


“You look just like your mother…” Alpha Satomi breathed in Derek’s direction. “And you look like your father.” she said in the same breath to Cora.

  


The wolves bowed their heads, nodding sorrowfully. One would have to be blind to miss the mist in their gaze.

  


“It is time to finish the last touches.” Deaton announced. “Stiles, Derek, Cora…you will follow me. Miss Yukimura, Miss Romero, Miss Martin, Mr. Boyd, Mr. Hewitt, Mr. Lahey…you will follow Emissary Morrell. The rest of you, the surprising addition, will follow the two that rode with you. And Alpha Satomi, you know where you need to go already.”

  


The sea of nods was slightly impressive. Like it was choreographed or something.

  


Everyone split up into their assigned groups, muttering sober goodbyes and not having the heart to let go of the hands of whoever was with them. The remainder of the Hale Pack was taken into a tent only feet away from the stone structure, immediately sat down on stools as they were painted.

  


Stiles fought the urge to shudder or fidget through the whole process. Yes, it was the same as what he donned at the Alpha Ceremony with the addition of the Triskele on either side of his neck, but the strokes were more careful. More reverent. And of course in the mourning colors Cora had picked out for the funeral. Once done, he let out a rough sigh, standing up and stretching his legs.

  


He watched as Cora was the first of the siblings to be finished. Since she wasn’t carrying the casket and was still a young pup, she didn’t have to sit as long as Derek had to. Her lips were painted a dark, blood red with thin stripes of black throughout. Her right cheek had the Triskele in black, the ink dripping down her face. Her left cheek had tiny violet swirls and curls that was the Anicent Wolf Tongue, listing the names of the fallen. Her eyes were circled with violet so dark that one would have to look close to realize that it was, in fact, violet and not black.

  


“My face itches.” she whispered to him, joining in on watching Derek get prettied up.

  


“Yeah. It’s the materials Emissaries use when they do this kind of crap. Not as nice as the ones Magic Holders use. But that is hard to get hold of unless you’re in a Magic Holder coven.”

  


“That sucks.”

  


“Just a bit.”

  


Derek took a while longer to get ready. There was much more to be done on him. Had to have his claws out and painted. Had to have his hands dotted with the phases of the moon. Had to have his neck covered in the names of his family in the tiny, wispy Ancient Wolf Tongue. Had to have on both sides of his face, from beneath the eyebrows to the chin, more of the Ancient Wolf Tongue, this one being Luna’s Mourning Wail, a poem written about feeling the loss of the moon in body but regaining it back in spirit. Had to have the Triskele marking on his forehead, like he had during the Ceremony. All in golds and reds – the usual for the new Alpha. Once he was finished, he stood up like a rickety old man and groaned.

  


“Shut up…” he grumbled at the snickers of his sister and Emissary.

  


The trio were led out of the tent, walking right into the six that were walking directly with them. As customary, they had the Pack symbol on both hands as well as on their throats. It was apparent that they were fighting the want to scratch where the paint was. Stiles told them the same thing he told Cora, lips twitching as he tried not to smirk.

  


The others showed up not long after, the only thing done to them was some fixing up on their hair and necklaces with the Triskele as a symbol of honorary Pack. Cora was not pleased. She pouted and scowled, and even made a comment about how everyone else was more comfortable than she was. She was proven slightly wrong when Erica confessed that her shoes were forming blisters on her toes. but that still didn’t stop the pouting and scowling.

  


“Pallbearers…if you would.” rasped an older Emissary, his wrinkly skin a reminder of dried prunes.

  


Stiles, Derek, Kira, Boyd, Lydia, and Isaac bowed their heads, unable to look at each other as they followed. They were shuffled into the stone structure (which looked way too big on the inside) and were led down a row of caskets. Each casket was closed, not wanting to traumatize any of them anymore than they already were. On the sides, they had the mark of the Hale Pack, along with intricate leaves and vines. On the top, was their names, wrapped around with the phases of the moon.

  


Stiles could hear Kira’s hitched breaths…and couldn’t help but join her. Seeing the names of the fallen…he hoped to the goddess and whatever other higher being there was out there that he would never have to see something like this again in his life.

  


They reached the very last casket, Miss Talia’s, and that’s where it felt real all over again.

  


Boyd had to rub the backs of both Alpha and Emissary in order to calm them down. Had to hum a little as well. The ragged breathing Stiles shared with Derek haunted his ears. He suddenly felt sick, and it took all that he could to not throw up right there and then.

  


“Stiles. Derek. Please take your positions. Miss Yukimura and Miss Martin, you’ll be behind Stiles. Mr. Boyd and Mr. Isaac, you’re behind Derek.” Deaton interrupted, voice even. Maybe faintly urgent.

  


Stiles wanted to tell the guy to fuck off. Like he had always wanted to do since first meeting him after being taken in and forced to sit through pointless therapy sessions. (He understood why he needed them, but he still thought them pointless.) He sucked in air roughly, glaring as he led the way to the casket. He started shaking as he stood by it, feeling his knees going weak. What in the hell was he thinking?! Why did he think it was a good idea to carry the casket?! He had a broken arm! He wouldn’t be able to hold it with both hands like everyone else! Why…why did he fight so hard to do this?

  


When he heard Derek choke out a sob, crying for his mother…he remembered why.

  


The six started the lift, and goddamn this casket was heavy! Sure, it wasn’t as heavy as it would have been with a body, and all that was in it was Miss Talia’s photo and the remnants of her favorite dress…but shit…it was still _heavy_! Stiles stumbled, seconds shy from collapsing and having a massive casket crush him to death. The others were able to somehow keep both from happening – terror ripping through their faces.

  


“Maybe we should have someone else take your place…” mused Deaton worriedly.

  


Hearing those words pissed him off. If he could, he would spit acid. Instead, he readjusted himself, heaving his breaths out shallowly and glowering hard as he found what would work best for him. This was going to be tough. He wondered if he could actually do this. But to hell if he would admit it! He was going to help carry this casket if it was the last thing he did!

  


Unfortunately, Deaton didn’t share the determined mindset.

  


“I really think someone else should be doing this, Stiles.”

  


“No. I’m doing this. I’m fine. See? I got this.”

  


“We can do most of the carrying. To relieve him a bit.” Kira chimed in, feeding his fire.

  


“I don’t mind that.” Boyd echoed stoically.

  


Deaton shook his head, turning his head towards a young Emissary. “Could you please relieve Emissary St -”

  


“ **NO**!”

  


Thunder cracked through the structure. Static filled the air. Eyes flashed – one red, one orange, and one violet. A distinctive click of disapproval came from Lydia, followed by throat clearing to prevent her from screaming. Boyd and Isaac mimicked a growl and nearly lifted the casket up and away from the four supernaturals. Deaton appeared amused while the Emissaries with them were backing away as far as they could, their wary stares focused on the youngest member of their sect.

  


“He. Stays.” Derek snarled. “He. _Stays_.”

  


Deaton sighed, shoulder sagging, but the amusement still lingered. “I don’t think it is wise. Stiles, you’re injured. You can barely assist in carrying such a heavy object. I just think it may be best -”

  


“To hell what you think is best!” roared Stiles, electricity climbing up his body. “I am carrying this casket!”

  


“Stiles -”

  


“I didn’t get to carry my mother’s casket when she died! I’m _not_ backing out of carrying my adopted mother’s!”

  


Silence.

  


Weighted silence.

  


In his short few years with the Hales, he had never once called Miss Talia anything other than Miss Talia or Alpha Hale. At least…not in front of anyone.

  


When he had his first nightmare in the house, Miss Talia the only one to come to check on him, he called her mom. When he had his first panic attack with them, Miss Talia taking him aside and coaching him through it, he called her mom. When he accidentally drove the Jeep into a ditch, Miss Talia with him because she was teaching him how to drive, he had called her mom while calling out for his own mother. When he had gone to her to talk about his sexuality, Miss Talia explaining to him that he wasn’t defective or sick because he was attracted to both boys and girls, he had called her mom.

  


She could never replace his mother. Not by a long shot. Claudia Stilinski was amazing. One in a million! But Miss Talia had helped him in the same ways he knew his late mother would have. With the same patience and sometimes with the same humor.

  


It was like he had lost her all over again…

  


“He stays…” Derek repeated in a whisper, voice thick with tears.

  


That was it.

  


Deaton lost the ability to argue back. To change Stiles out for someone else. If he had dared to try, he would have been met with much resistance. And not just from Stiles. The Head Emissary motioned for everyone to get into place. Then, he went outside, returning with everyone else. Hayden and Mason had to keep Cora up as she unleashed a blood curdling scream upon the sight of the caskets.

  


It’s funny…

  


They knew that their Pack was gone. That their Pack perished. But there was always something…just that one thing…that caused it to become all the more real. Despite their knowledge, it never clicked that it was true. Like they were in a bad dream and no matter what, they would wake up the next day and nothing would have changed. There would have been no fire. There would have been no Alpha Ceremony for Derek. There would have been no hospital stay. They would be in their house, happy as clams. Smothering themselves with piles of cuddles and nuzzles.

  


It’s funny, that denial…

  


Stiles ached, wishing that he could take her hand and seep soothing calm through her. Judging be the whimpers on his other side, Derek felt the same ache. That’s where their free friends came in. The whole lot huddled around her, hugging her tightly and copying the nuzzles they had seen the late Hales do. She lost most of her hysterical behavior…but she kept the loud shuddering breaths and ongoing stream of tears. Did not help with the aches her brother and Emissary held.

  


It was a short blur after that.

  


Stiles’ legs moved close to mechanically as they marched up the hill and down a windy road to the Hale plot. His ears didn’t register all the noise around him. The classical music full of unrelenting sadness, the pensive singing from the other Emissaries, Alpha Satomi reciting the Prayer Of Lycan in Japanese, Derek and _himself_ whispering Luna’s Mourning Wail – he heard none of it. Not until the funeral march reached their destination.

  


The place was surrounded by mourners from all over the world, draped head to toe in the colors Cora picked. There was hardly an inch of grass that wasn’t covered by people. The music he hadn’t heard came from a small band of people sitting on a makeshift stage, their hands quivering as they played.

  


And then there was the enormous hole in the ground reserved for the many caskets.

  


Isaac perfectly quoted how Stiles was feeling at the moment:

  


“I think I’m going to puke…”

  


“And then Boyd will kill you.” huffed Lydia.

  


“Painfully.” Boyd agreed.

  


“Not the time for that type of joke, guys…” Kira scolded half-heartily, her tone full of water.

  


They got into position, standing beside the stands for the caskets. Deaton nodded, giving the silent okay to set down the caskets. One by one, the Emissaries placed the ones they carried via Magic onto the proper stand. Miss Talia’s was the last one. It was also, understandably, the most difficult to let go. Stiles grunted and struggled to gain his footing. Slipped a dozen times. The others, especially Derek, picked up the slack. Eventually, Miss Talia’s casket was set down without incident. Luckily.

  


“You okay?” asked Kira with concern.

  


Stiles nodded, panting and leaning into Derek. He wished it had been easier. If it had been a Pack member or two, and not the Alpha, all Stiles would have to do was use his own Magic to levitate the caskets forward while the Alpha walked by his side in the front, and whoever was left walked at the end of the line. It would’ve been so much easier on his stubborn to heal body!

  


He immediately felt guilty for thinking such a thought…

  


Quickly corrected it by saying that, no matter what, dead Pack was no good.

  


Besides, everyone involved would’ve had to wear more paint. _Especially_ Stiles and the Alpha.

  


But yeah. Dead Pack. No good. Never again. No more funerals. Not until they were old and decaying.

  


Stiles, Derek, and Cora were ushered to the hole, standing around and staring into it. Quite the long way down. Looked lonely and cold. It was no place for Pack.

  


Unfortunately…that was where their warmth was destined to reside.

  


Numbness took over. Deaton’s words were muffled. Like he was speaking to them from above water. The only thing Stiles could hear was Cora bawling. His eyes flitted over to her, wanting to offer her comfort. He could tell that Derek wanted to, as well. The poor guy was twitching from lack of touch. But the damn tradition was no touching the surviving Pack until after the lowering of the casket. Or, in their case, caskets.

  


Whatever Deaton was saying took an eternity to be over. He was then followed by Alpha Satomi taking his place, dropping her robe (she still had some clothing on, much to the relief of herself and everyone else attending) to reveal the prayer she was to recite. That was much longer than what Deaton had been babbling about. Was no surprise since she was almost covered head to toe in the multi-part prayer. Stiles had tuned her out until the very last little bit, where everyone that was part of a Pack had to say it along with her.

  


“ _O’ Goddess above, bless mine soul. May all pains and sufferings I face be lessened with your grace. O' Luna of the Moon, bless mine heart. May all aches and breaks I feel be lifted with your light. I, Lycan, Wolf of Man, bow in reverence to your wills and express love, trust, and belief in your tender embrace. Mine children are yours to hold, yours to keep, yours to protect. In life, in death, in the middle. Bless us, bless us all. I pray you._ ”

  


Next came Luna’s Mourning Wail.

  


Which had to be done by Derek.

  


And it was abundantly clear that Derek was showing signs of an upcoming panic attack.

  


His eyes were wide and focused on his Pack, silently begging for help. His speech he had prepared endlessly for wouldn’t be an issue. His support would be right there with him, able to touch and be close to him. But right now…they weren’t allowed to touch. Felt as if they were thousands of miles away. Derek was all alone. And _panicking_.

  


This would not do! _Fuck_ tradition! Stiles rushed up to Derek, ignoring the loud gasps and murmurs from the crowd, and took his hand. Derek jolted, breath sharply being sucked into him and eyes even wider.

  


“I’m right here. I have you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. Or hold it for ten seconds.” Stiles coached quietly. “I’m right here. I have you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. Or hold it for ten seconds.”

  


The wolf swallowed and blinked away tears, consumed with tremors. “Y-y-y-you…you w-won’t leave me-me, wi-will you?”

  


“No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, no mater what. Even after we calm you down, I’m not moving an inch from you. Now…we gotta get you breathing right again. I’m gonna use our favorite spell, okay? It will help. Hopefully…”

  


Derek nodded in understanding, his body visibly relaxing at the calming spell’s touch. He took the holding breath route, closing his eyes and squeezing Stiles’ hand. Whimpering, Cora decided fuck tradition as well and joined the boys. With Pack right there with him, he wrapped his arms around them both as he allowed himself to breathe again, and took turns burrowing his nose into their hair.

  


Now...now he was ready. Or as ready as he could be.

  


He recited the poem in a timid voice, some of his words slurring and getting garbled from his lack of knowing Archaic Latin. No one seemed to mind. Not like anyone attending really _knew_ Archaic Latin. Well…with the exception of Lydia. Who looked super displeased when Stiles dared to take a glance back at their friends. She was likely going to scold Derek later. If she remembered to. There was a lot going on and she could be distracted from scolding. _Hopefully_.

  


Finally, the poem was finished, Derek stuttering the last bit and drooping his head to hide his embarrassment.

  


Now...it was time to lower the dead.

  


Packs from all over the world began singing in their native languages, creating a sea of meshed mourning songs – no two the same. (With the exception of the Americans. Amazing Grace seemed to be the default song at funerals.) Those not part of a Pack sang along to what they recognized. In fact, there was hardly a single person in that cemetery, the press included, that weren’t singing or humming in some way.

  


It only grew louder as the cemetery workers started prepping the caskets to be lowered.

  


Cora dived under Derek’s shirt, hiking it up and flashing part of his stomach. It was something Stiles hadn’t seen Cora do since she was nine, and it had always drove Derek up the wall. Due to the circumstances…it didn’t bother him. Instead, a flicker of nostalgia passed through him before he crumbled and kept his face deep against Stiles’ shoulder. Neither of the siblings could watch the lowering of the first casket.

  


Stiles found safety in his Alpha’s hair just as the casket started sinking into the hole.

  


The trio refused to watch altogether. They kept their faces hidden within each other, finding solace in the fact that they weren’t alone. That they still had each other. It was all they had for now…

  


Time trudged on in a mind numbing pace. Each new small thunk from a casket reaching its destination causing ripples of distraught trembles. The trio had just about fell to their knees an innumerable amount of times.

  


Over and over, Stiles whispered, only audible enough for the Hale siblings to hear, “Please be the last one. _Please_ be the last one.”

  


When it _was_ the last one, Miss Talia’s, Stiles dared to open his eyes and stare back down into the hole.

  


Memories of seeing his parents in the wet dirt, being covered with flowers, flooded in.

  


He finally collapsed onto the ground, nearly taking Derek and Cora with him, and screamed. He lost his mother all over again. Lost his father all over again. Before, he hadn’t been able to properly mourn, instantly whisked away to sessions of half-hearted therapy and life within the walls of the Emissary Council. At their funeral, he was forced to be stoic and not give in to his grief. He hadn’t mourned. This time around, he had done more than enough…and now…it was consuming him. Both losses ate at his soul, threatening to split him in a million pieces.

  


Suddenly, he felt the weight from Derek, who still had Cora tucked away under his shirt, drop to his side. He wrapped Stiles into a fierce embrace with one arm, howling weakly against his ear and struggling to keep both the Emissary and the younger wolf in his grasp. The more Derek struggled, the more his meek howls turned into screams that mimicked Stiles'. As if he felt everything Stiles was, but tenfold. Wasn’t uncommon with Emissaries and Wolf Emissaries. But…Derek was the Alpha now. That connection was supposed to be _severed_ …

  


The trio had to be eventually escorted to a nearby tent as the hole was being filled up. It was to shield them from further trauma, supposedly. Alas, no amount of sound canceling barriers could block out the plunk of the dirt against the wooden beds. Stiles found himself flinching and sniffling along with his wolves, worn out from the screaming and all other emotions he felt for the short time he felt them. Or what felt short. He didn’t know how long it was. Things were jumbled – disjointed. Like they had been since the fire.

  


“Can…can I practice my speech?” Derek spoke up out of nowhere, voice hoarse.

  


He didn’t allow an answer. Just pulled out a crumbled piece of paper and shakily began reciting it. He made it halfway through before he just…stopped. Stared at the paper like it had personally offended him.

  


“Der?” whispered Cora, brows raised.

  


No answer. Only a vaguely vacant glare at the paper.

  


Deaton came to fetch them not long after, announcing that the public wanted to hear words from the broken Pack. Stiles opened his mouth to demand more time. They needed it. _Derek_ needed it. After what had transpired with the lowering of their Pack, he doubted any of them would be okay to speak for months.

  


It clicked right there and then that people didn’t truly care that they had just lost people they cared about. That Derek and Cora lost their blood relatives, their mother. That Stiles had lost his adoptive family. That all three of them were orphans living in a loft that the Emissary Council was paying for. That they would be traumatized for years to come. That Derek had almost been raped. That they were all kids…just _kids_ …lost, confused, alone…

  


It was all politics. Every last bit of it.

  


The realization was about as soul crushing as losing everything.

  


Stiles lost his ability to speak. Not like it would do anything. Not in such a political world that would go about their daily lives right after it was all said and done. Forget all of this. Return to their usual business and usual thought process. No matter what Stiles would say to prolong Derek giving the speech…it would mean nothing.

  


This was all for _nothing_ …

  


“Derek?!”

  


He jerked his head up at Cora’s cries, catching Derek as he was marching out. Stumbling about, Stiles hopped to his feet, chasing after him. He was about to grab the wolf when he saw…this look. There was…a blaze hotter than the fire that took their homes swimming in his kaleidoscope gaze. A determination Stiles had never seen before.

  


It rattled his core.

  


And ignited his own determination.

  


He went from trying to stop whatever Derek was planning, to marching right beside him, his own stare ablaze. Little Cora ran after them, taking their hands and switched between looking at them both. She whined a bit, but squeezed their hands to indicate that she understood what was happening. She joined them, despite her puffy eyes hindering the intimidation her glare usually gave off.

  


At the sight of the trio approaching with heads held high and gaits radiating power – the buzz from the mourners and reporters stilled. Some showed discomfort with this new behavior, especially when they had seen the trio distraught moments before. It was as if a switch was flipped. And that was _exactly_ what it was. Though…Stiles wasn’t sure what that switch was in Derek…

  


They reached the small stage the band had previously been playing on, circling a mike stand left behind. Stiles half expected Derek to shrink back to his nervous state, shakily read the speech on the well loved piece of paper. What actually occurred was…spine chilling.

  


The young Alpha crumbled up the paper and tossed it to the ground. He kept focused on the crowd, breathing shallow and purposely maintained. For a second, both Cora and Stiles were ready to jump and pull him off the stage till he was no longer keyed up. But then he spoke…

  


“You failed.” he said with conviction. “You tried to burn us all. Tried to wipe off one more Pack, one more group of supernaturals off this earth. But you failed. We’re _alive_. We’re. _Still_. Here. And we’re _staying_ here. We’ll grow stronger. we’ll build back up. We’ll _rise_ from this. It will take some time…but we will do it. And when we do…we won’t come after you with the intent to kill. You’re not worth it. We’ll grow again and thrive…that will be revenge enough. Because you will lose your minds over seeing us not staying broken. You’ve only slowed us down briefly. And once we climb back up…you’ll be at a loss. You won’t know what to do. Because not only will we rebuild our home, our Pack, our lives…but we will _fight_ for the rights of all supernaturals touched, or untouched, by people like you.

  


But just because we are doing all that doesn't mean we aren't hunting you. Because you can't get away with this. You can't just...get away with butchering innocent lives just because we're different. We aren't different. We're not. We...we are _human_! We feel _everything_ you feel! If you can't understand that...then _you're_ the monsters! Not us! And you're not going to get away with just a slap on the wrist! No...once you're caught...once you feel the fear we feel when you hunt us...you will fade away while my Pack, all Packs, all _supernaturals_ thrive!”

  


Derek swallowed, closing his eyes and exhaled sharply. “We are all _here_.” He opened his eyes, glowing dimly and non-threateningly. “And none of us are going nowhere. We will _all_ rise. And you...you will rot. Rot until you are nothing but a stupid ghost story...”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come check out the event!
> 
> https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the event on tumblr!
> 
> https://sterek-bingo.tumblr.com/


End file.
